


The Purpose of Wings

by Charlennette



Series: The Purpose of Wings [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Family, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:54:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 95,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27794152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charlennette/pseuds/Charlennette
Summary: The war may be over but Harry's fight continues. Caught between the duties of a war hero and fatherhood, Harry realizes that change demands sacrifice and the price may be more than he can bear. A story about the strength of family against intrigue, bigotry, plotting, and politics.
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Harry Potter
Series: The Purpose of Wings [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2181564
Comments: 12
Kudos: 68





	1. A Gown of Feathers

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: Hello, thank you for reading my story. Please see my profile for information regarding canon compliance and a general timeline of my interconnected stories. While they are not necessary to read, my short stories add flavor and context.
> 
> I own none of the rights, nor make money, nor gain fame, or anything else from Harry Potter.
> 
> Cheers.

Quiet crooning drifted upon the air as Harry Potter made his way up the stairs to his home's second floor. The house was dark. Muted lamplight the only illumination as Harry crept slowly, lightly placing his feet where familiarity promised the floorboards wouldn't creak.

Harry breathed out a sigh of relief upon reaching the top floor, right before banging his toe against the topmost banister as he turned. Eyes watering, he bit the knuckle he'd shoved in his mouth to muffle his pained exclamation. It was not lost on him that, even in his mind, the curses he used lacked a certain  _ color _ . Hermione would be proud.

Still nursing his toe, he began moving towards the slightly ajar door which spilled out warm light and song into the otherwise dark, silent hallway. Shuffling, so as not to abuse his toes further, he arrived at his destination just as the singing ended.

Peeking through the entryway's gap, Harry saw his wife laying on her side upon a bed slightly too short to comfortably contain her willowy legs. Her platinum hair shone in the orange light of the lamp placed on the bedside table. A green, knitted sweater hung loosely on her slender frame. Her head was propped up by a single hand, and the other dragged long fingers through tumbling curls of burnished gold. Fleur met his spying eyes and began singing again.

Not wanting to intrude, or rile up the precious girl slowly falling asleep to her mother's lullaby, he simply stood half-hidden by the door in the hall. The song was a familiar one, a favorite of his little witchling. With a strong, lilting voice, Fleur sang the story of a young Veela that lived in the woods. How one day she met and befriended a human child that lived in an adjacent village. The song gradually became quieter as their daughter's eyelids drooped over tired blue eyes.

With a soft toss of her head, the snuggled girl yawned widely, trying in vain to stay awake. His wife quirked an eyebrow at him in amusement before returning her gaze to their child. Harry's heart clenched. His skin felt tight and too hot as molten emotion swept through him. That look, Fleur's obvious, abject adoration of their little girl made him weak in the knees. She was such a good mother, and he loved her impossibly more for it.

Without pause, the mother continued her lullaby, a folktale of her people. The oral history of the Veela was long and enchanting, passed down from mother to daughter in song just as Fleur was doing now. Her dulcet tones were warmer than the glow of the lamp, more comforting than the quilt tucked around their child, as the tale warbled in the air.

The story spoke about how the human girl would sneak away from her village to play with the Veela in the woods. But the games were always human games for the little girl couldn't take to the sky to frolic with her friend. It made the human girl sad that she couldn't fly alongside her forest sister.

The older woman smiled as their own little Veela's eyes finally lost their battle, closing completely. She continued the tale, not daring to leave it unfinished or arrest their daughter's descent into dreams. Her eyes stayed locked to his as she crooned about how the Veela thought long and hard about what to do. How she started to collect her molted feathers and, using magic born of love, spun a beautiful gown made of silver plumage. With it, finally, the young girl could take to the air as though she had wings and play Veela games.

The story complete, Fleur leaned over to kiss the head of their snoozing child. Before carefully extricating herself from the bed so as not to disturb it's occupant. Harry opened the door quietly, slipping inside. Tiptoeing forwards he smiled at his wife who watched from the other side of the bed as he pressed his lips to the same spot she had. With a final tender caress to Fayette Eloise Potter's blonde ringlets, he bade goodnight to his daughter. Turning, he moved to follow the sway of slender hips towards the hall. Harry gave one last fond look at the cutely snoring chicklet, before shutting the door with a click.

Warm arms wrapped around his chest, fingertips caressing his collarbone from behind, as a soft head pressed against the hollow between his shoulder blades. He sighed contentedly at the embrace. A tap of his wand to the bedroom door cast a muting charm, so his daughter would remain undisturbed through the night. After a few moments he broke the silence, " _ A Gown of Feathers _ , again I see," he whispered bemusedly.

He felt rather than heard her chuckle against his back. "She is just excited about her sister's big day tomorrow," a husky voice responded.

Harry hummed in understanding. Tomorrow was one he had mixed feelings about. Excitement, loss, pride, and anxiety swirled about his chest. It made his head ache. With a sigh, he thumped his head softly against Fayette's closed bedroom door in resignation. Tomorrow was his eldest daughter's first day of school, whether he liked it or not.

Objectively, he knew it was important for a number of reasons, not least of which was Hogwarts' disinterest in teaching math or writing. Of course, his wife pointing out how important the few years a Veela had to be social and make friends before her allure manifested was crucial to their development had ultimately tipped the scales. Didn't mean he had to be happy about it.

He could remember the penultimate day clearly. He had been annoying Fleur with his indecisiveness and general dragging of feet for weeks. Not that he didn't think about the decision constantly but because choosing a school just made it feel so  _ final _ . She hadn't taken kindly to him moping about the kitchen, muttering about finding a school later. Said mumbling had been interrupted the day she had stormed in with a list of the top schools in the United Kingdom. Brochures of her particular favorites had been slammed onto the counter and, glaring, she'd said, "choose one."

Harry chuckled, remembering how he'd heaved a sigh as his fingers began to riffle through the names listed on the brochures. Right before the perfect one caught his eye. With a coughing laugh he had pointed to the selected school. With a victorious smirk at him, she peeked over at the indicated institution. Her eyes, when they met his again, were narrowed dangerously. "Really," she had stated, exasperation thick in her tone.

Feeling his chuckle, Fleur turned him around to face her, eyes searching his for the source of his amusement. "Just reminiscing," he explained at her bemused look. A light of understanding dawned across her face before a familiar narrowing of the eyes occurred.

Pulling her to his chest, he laughed again quietly, although unnecessarily.

"I still can't believe you picked Liliana's school based on its name. What is with you English cochon and your predilection for -," she began.

"Hey," Harry interrupted, "Hogsthorpe is a great school. You even chose it's brochure."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, but you picked it for no reason but it's name," her tone accusing.

He let the allegation pass unanswered since he couldn't really deny it anyways.

Tomorrow, his seven-year-old daughter, Liliana Jaime Potter would begin attending Hogsthorpe Primary Academy in Skegness.

The Potters had visited Skegness a few times, to check out the area and ward the school. It was a lovely, sleepy seaside town in Lincolnshire, right on the coast of the North Sea. Liliana loved it.

Looking down the hall at his eldest's door, Harry let out a melancholic huff. Little Lili had been so excited for the next day she'd gone straight to bed after dinner, wanting morning to come as fast as possible. He jolted at the sting of his nose being flicked. Fleur eyed him mischievously. "Come mon cœur, take me to bed. I will distract you from your misplaced anxiety over an empty nest."

She let out a throaty chuckle at Harry's incredulous expression, gently tugging him out of the hallway and towards the master bedroom.

After closing the door firmly behind them, the alluring silver-haired woman let go of Harry's hand, drifting over to the large dresser where she kept her night clothes. Harry fondly remembered a time before night clothes, when the only barrier to her skin and his own through the night were tangled sheets. Children had changed that, with night terrors and thunderstorms. Their bed saw tiny, extra occupants more often than not.

Occasionally, he would miss that former freedom of intimacy but it helped to know that it would eventually return when the girls were in Hogwarts. Besides, he thought to himself, waking up and feeling their tiny hands wrapped around his arm or clenched in his shirt were moments of cherished wonderment.

Of course, the witchlings had their quirks. Fayette softly snored just like her mother, not that she'd ever admit it, and Liliana was a most combative bed-hog. He had been woken a number of times by sharp kicks to his thigh or a jab to the ribs.

Harry's mind stuttered to a halt as Fleur disrobed. Moonbeams and lamplight caused wicked shadows to dance over the curves and valleys of her body. She moved lithely, innocently even, as she went about her nightly rituals of changing. She peeked at him from between the tumbling waves of her hair as she bent to pull out her sleeping gown from the bottom drawer. He stood there dazed, heart hammering and palms slick. Just like the first time he saw her clothed in naught but air and shadow.

An indulgent, if slightly evil, smile graced her face as she slinked towards him, dressing gown left forgotten in the pulled-out drawer. Her rolling gait drew his eyes to her hips, a hard-fought battle with other fascinating parts of her anatomy on display.

Stopping in front of him, Harry looked up, locking eyes with Fleur's. A dark fire burned in the sapphire hue of her gaze. Her fingers danced up his chest before gripping the back of his neck, tugging him down and towards her lips.

XXXXXXXX

Harry lay bonelessly in bed. Fleur's head rested in the crook of his arm, fingers tracing the jagged lighting bolt scar on his chest from the preordained moment in the Forbidden Forest. Their legs tangled together in warm, rumpled sheets. His own hand wandered down the curve of her spine, up and over the hill of her hip in a well-worn path, back and forth.

"It's been too long," she murmured into the night. Shifting slightly to press herself closer against Harry's side.

He tried valiantly to ignore the pressure of delectable curves, "you mean too long since this morning?" He snorted, "perhaps the tales of a Veela's insatiability-"

Fleur pinched his nipple threateningly, effectively shutting him up.

His wife let out a throaty chuckle. "What I meant, was that it has been too long since we could take our time. Unhurried by fears of interruptions in the mornings or quick detours in the shower."

He sighed out his agreement, "we haven't been taking up Mrs. Weasley or your mum's offers to take the girls lately. There's just been so much to get ready with Lili starting school."

"I know," she said quietly, propping herself up on her side as she carded a hand through Harry's thick hair. "It doesn't change my desire to not let you out of my grasp, however."

Tilting his head to meet her tender gaze, he grinned. "Nor mine," he agreed, pressing his lips to hers. "I'll floo call Mrs. Weasley tomorrow after we drop Lili off, see if she can take the girls Friday night. She usually has either George's or Ron's brood anyways."

Fleur nuzzled her nose into his neck in tacit agreement. When she spoke, her lip's vibrations against his skin sent a shudder zigzagging down his back. "Will you cook for me?"

Harry buried fingers in the river of her hair. "Of course, anything you want."

"Something french," she breathed drowsily.

He silently laughed, trying to suppress the noise so as not to disturb his partner.

A small puff of air against his bare chest heralded the soft snores that would soon follow. He touched his lips to the top of Fleur's head before grabbing his wand. A deft flick caused the blanket around them to slide up before transfiguring into night clothes. A sweep of his wrist caused a cover to whoosh out of a cupboard to settle on their bed. Satisfied, he relaxed, burying his head in platinum hair, her familiar scent evoking images of fresh rain and fall forests. Sleep came easily.

XXXXXXXX

A loud thud echoed through the house followed by the scampering of tiny feet. Harry quickly shoved his wand back into the holster attached to the side of the bedframe and re-settled in bed just as the door exploded inwards, followed by a silver comet crashing onto the mattress. With a muffled groan, Fleur rolled onto her side away from her rambunctious family in sleepy irritation. He fought the urge to chuckle as he continued to feign sleep. She had always struggled with waking up early. Especially when the cause was an unexpected noise resulting in him pulling away from her warm body in taunt readiness.

"Papa, papa," an excited voice giggled out in French, "today is the day, wake up!" He felt the bed shift as his eldest daughter bounced happily. Even though he fought it, a small smile pulled at the corner of his lips.

Knowing the game was up but refusing to admit defeat, Harry started snoring. Loudly and obnoxiously, causing Lili to burst into peals of laughter at the familiar act. "No, no, papa," the tiny voice sang, "you can't fool me. I saw you smile."

He peeked one eye open at his daughter's beaming face before tightly screwing it shut and resumed snoring. Tiny fingers dug into his side, tickling him in retaliation of his facade. With a great growl, he heaved upwards, wrapping an arm around his little girl who squealed in delight. Even through the suddenness of the action, Harry took great care in gently placing Liliana onto the bed before getting his vengeance by tickling her.

Little fists pounded at his chest and arms as she cried out, breathlessly laughing. Suddenly, his sides were once again attacked as his wife decided to sleepily come to her daughter's rescue. He rolled to his side, curling up to reduce the area he had to protect as mother and daughter teamed up against him.

Panting, Harry announced his defeat. He glanced up at Lili's smug smile before his eyes drifted to Fleur's deliciously disheveled form. Half-lidded eyes and tousled silver hair. Lips pouting and full even as she smirked knowingly at him. With a groan, he shoved thoughts of morning's past back where they belonged before refocusing on his daughter.

Lili wiggled back and forth on her knees, waving her hands exaggeratedly as she babbled about her upcoming day at school. Harry listened attentively. Hermione had gifted her goddaughter the lavender pajamas she was currently wearing. A lilac unicorn pranced across the front of the sleeping gown, stopping to paw at the ground occasionally before continuing it's trek.

"Come ma poulette, let your father up so he can make us breakfast," Fleur said, ruffling her daughter's hair, the same platinum sheen as her own. He gazed fondly at them, Liliana was a near perfect copy of her mother but for two emerald green differences.

Chirping in agreement, Lili flounced out of bed and towards the door, undoubtedly heading towards her sister's room to wake her up as well.

A curtain of hair fell across the side of his face as Fleur leaned over him. Harry breathed in the spiced wood smell and closed his eyes as her thumb traced his cheekbone. "Arise mon amour, hungry Veela await," she said as she brushed her lips against his.

He lay in bed for a while longer, savoring.

After dressing and running water-soaked hands through his hair in an attempt to tame his bedhead, he headed downstairs. Fleur glided about the kitchen, fixing coffee for herself and tea for him. Lili's feet swung in the air at the table in the adjacent room, gabbing.

Tossing his lovely wife a smile as she passed him, handing over the cup of tea in the process, He bent to pull out a large skillet from one of the blackwood cabinets spaced throughout the kitchen; absently flicking the oven to heat on his way back up.

Whistling a merry tune, he began to lay out eggs and strips of bacon in the warming pan.

Sunlight shone through large glass windows. He loved his kitchen. Fleur had helped him design it just right, so that natural light would bathe his place of duty with warm rays.

The pop of grease and the sizzle of the eggs was soon accompanied by three voices, singing the words to his whistled ditty. The three females had naturally gifted voices, even little Fayette all of four years of age. But Fleur's held a power and mysticism to it that the young girls could not duplicate. Not until their Telling anyways.

He flipped the bacon as he considered the changes his life was about to undergo. This was a day that would bring about many new beginnings. A big day. An important one.

Harry remembered a day not too dissimilar from the present. When Fleur had taken his hand in hers and pressed it to her belly with a whispered confession. That had been a moment of great change as well. He had quit the Auror force the following week. Ron, his partner, had been miffed but understanding. He'd even followed Harry's footsteps when little Rosie was born a few years later.

Fleur had given birth to Liliana Jaime Potter later that year and Harry's life had changed again. The new parents had agreed that letting Lili socialize with kids that weren't her family was important, especially muggles. His wife had spoken of her good experiences as a girl in the muggle school she had attended and attempted to coax him to her point of view. It took some work, as he did not have similarly fond memories.

However, that had proven to be the easy part. Fleur had also had to educate him on the challenges of raising Veela chicklets. Namely, their inability to control their nature until seven or eight. There had been many temper tantrums featuring a short-beaked Liliana, downy fluff coating her arms. He found it quite adorable really. His squalling daughter's partial transformation also had the added benefit of turning her screaming fits into trilling birdsong, which was preferable, all things considered.

Harry shunted the done eggs and bacon off his skillet and onto a plate before adding more, changing his whistled song to one he knew would make Fayette in particular belt out excitedly.

There had certainly been a learning curve, dating and marrying a Veela hadn't prepared him much for raising them. Apolline, his mother-in-law, had graciously sat him down to discuss the finer points of Veela culture with him. Fleur's father, Matisse had also dispensed some human wisdom from his own experiences.

Now, in just two short years, Liliana would undergo her first ritualistic ceremony as a Veela chicklet. The Telling. Males weren't allowed to attend and little information had been provided. It was a sacred ceremony with deep roots to the Veela race's very inception... and a jealously guarded secret. What Harry could gather was the rite of passage would allow his daughter to shift fully into her Veela form for the first time, not just a beak or a few feathers here and there. It would simultaneously manifest her allure.

He had been relieved to find out that a nine-year-olds allure did nothing other than inspire protectiveness in those that felt it, rather than the lascivious feelings a mature Veela's could arouse.

Both Fleur and Apolline had spoken of their Tellings in hushed tones filled with wonder, leaving him unconcerned about whatever it may entail. He hoped his daughters had similar experiences.

Fleur had confessed that the Telling was one of the few times she felt good about her heritage as a child. That it was so significant it had helped her through her rough Beauxbatons years. Being one of three Veelas in an otherwise completely human school had led to some tension. It was partly why she was so close with her two cousins who had attended with her, Estelle and Angèle.

He desperately didn't want Liliana and Fayette to go through similar experiences. England had just as few Veela as France did, but at least Hogwarts would be filled with cousins and children of family-friends to support them.

Harry's whistled tune ended as he plated the remaining bacon and eggs. Snapping his right hand smartly, his wand slid into place from his sleeve holster. An absent flick caused bread to sail into the now heated oven where they'd brown pleasantly.

Strolling through the open entryway into the dining room, he placed the cluttered plate full of bacon and eggs down. Fayette lunged for a piece of well-done bacon as Fleur decried her table manners. He chuckled, ruffling the pig-tails Fleur had pulled their youngest's hair into. Liliana was a focused, intelligent witch, taking after her mother and godmother. Fayette, however, was all Potter and as mischievous as her namesake.

Lili nibbled on a piece of bacon while reciting her number tables in-between bites.

A twirl of Harry's wand summoned the toast from the oven, landing on an empty plate Harry had set upon the table. A simple fare, but well accompanied by the sliced apples and oranges Fleur had already prepared before his arrival.

Contented chattering filled the room as the Potters ate. A slight melancholy overtaking him. For seven years he had stayed at home to raise his chicklets. He hadn't been able to bear the thought of leaving them each day for work and couldn't entrust them to a stranger to raise. It had been Fleur who had been the one to suggest the idea originally.

At first, he’d felt unsure. He had been taught all his life that a man was supposed to provide for his family... but the incredulous look Fleur had given him when he'd told her as much swayed him from the notion. He had only joined the Auror force a few months before he had proposed to her, wanting to show he was moving on from the malaise of post-war life and ready to take on the responsibility of a husband.

Of course, he’d also wanted to catch the rogue Death Eaters with Ron and Neville.

It had been an exciting job but the long missions were a strain on his relationship with Fleur, who visibly wilted every time he was assigned. Harry hadn't wanted to keep putting her through that, especially while with child. Not to mention the overwhelming fear that had gripped him about leaving his family alone because he got killed in some stupid raid on some dark wizard crime ring.

It had been an easy choice.

Homeschooling his children had been a joy that he took seriously. Having had a lacking muggle education himself, he had studied the first three years of Lili's life, ensuring his competency. Hermione had been a huge help, offering old subject books and preparatory material. She had a positively possessive affection for her goddaughter that caused no shortage of humor for the Potter parents.

In the end, Hermione had been successful in instilling a love of reading into Liliana. Ron's accomplishment as godfather, however, had been making her into a fan of the Chudley Cannons. An affliction her father hoped he could break.

Harry had been so proud while teaching his eldest daughter. She grasped concepts far quicker than he did. She had her mother to thank for that. This year, he would start to teach Fayette, who had turned four a few months ago while Lili attended muggle primary school. A couple instances of well-placed spellwork had forged documents of her previous schooling which the muggle English government said should have started at five years of age.

To her credit, Lili had worked hard, training to keep her Veela side from blooming unexpectedly so that she could attend muggle school and make friends. He’d been proud of that too. The Potters openly tried to encourage their daughters to be comfortable with their lineage. But it was one thing to strut through the privacy of their own home with fluffed feathers, and another to scare a muggle teacher witless.

The food finished, Fleur whirled her wand about her head, sending the plates off to begin washing, as she rose. Turning to Harry, she rose an eyebrow and he nodded in response as he stood. She smiled prettily at the girls as she moved to face them. "Let's go get dressed while Papa finishes cleaning up," she said before whisking them upstairs.

With a luxurious groan, the dark-haired man stretched. His joints popping pleasantly. Pushing the chairs in at the table, Harry made his way over to a kitchen cabinet, well out of reach of seven-year-old hands. Peeking in, he extracted a brightly wrapped present, which he placed in the back pocket of his jeans. Turning, he made his way upstairs to help get the girls ready.

Passing Fayette's door, where he saw Fleur trying to convince their daughter to don something charming rather than the comfortable pajamas she was currently wearing, he continued on to Lili's room. He fully expected Fayette would accompany her sister to school in the pink bear onesie – complete with paws for feet and a hood with ears – that she was currently wearing. As long as Fleur could charm it to stop growling when the hood was up, Harry didn't mind.

Knocking on Lili's slightly ajar door, Harry announced his presence. Lili was standing in front of the mirror in her sleep clothes, pressing her school uniform to her chest just as she had seen her mother do with her own dresses many times before. He felt another wave of melancholy threaten to take him out at the knees. His little girl was growing up.

"You'll look awfully pretty in that, love," he choked out, squatting down so he could be eye level with her.

Liliana beamed at him before placing the uniform lovingly on her bedside. Turning to him she lifted her arms up in request. He moved forward, pulling her pajamas up and over her arms before wrapping her in the white blouse, tidily doing up her buttons. After pulling on her skirt and teaching her how to tuck in the blouse he held out the jacket for Lili to slip her arms through the sleeves. Twirling in front of the mirror, Lili's eyes shone and Harry's watered.

A quiet gasp from the doorway behind them caused him to turn his head. Fleur was staring at their daughter in wonder. A babble of sweet French poured from her mouth as she walked up behind Lili, putting her hands on her shoulders and looking her up and down in the mirror.

She brushed the long silver hair over Lili's left shoulder before conjuring a brilliant green ribbon which she tied Lili's tresses up with. The bow sparkled, perched atop the little girl's head. Her straight locks confined to a simple, elegant tail that hung down her back. He smiled softly as his wife crouched down and pressed her cheek to her daughter's, whispering sugared words.

Harry's heart ached, they looked so alike but for the color of their eyes. Lili's the color of a namesake she would never know and Fleur's a miraculously shifting blue. The private moment between mother and daughter felt so intimate that Harry suddenly felt out-of-place, his presence intrusive.

Fleur looked at him in the mirror as he stood suddenly awkward and unsure behind them. Her brilliant, loving smile washing away the foolish, sour emotions swirling in his chest. Her eyebrow rose, eyes darting from him to Lili, her message clear.

Stepping forward, he pulled out the gift from his pocket. Placing it in the hands of his daughter, who had watched him with growing eyes as he approached from behind her in the mirror.

Looking down at the long, slender package, Lili looked up at him and then towards her mother. A question evident on her face.

"A present for your big day," Fleur said, kissing her blushing cheek.

Tearing away the paper, the girl's hands trembled when a jewelry box was revealed. Shaky fingers opened the clasp to reveal a silver necklace. A platinum heart glinted in the morning light, two jewels, one green and one blue, placed in the apex of each rounded peak.

Fleur, obviously deciding to break the shocked gaping of her eldest, pulled the necklace out by the chain before fastening it around a narrow neck. "Something to remember us by while away at school," She whispered, kissing the girls cheek again. "A woman should receive jewelry on important days." She speared him with an amused look. "Something your father has never failed to forget."

Harry blushed. Even after all these years, the woman knew exactly how to most effectively tease him. His lady had never been one for jewellery, having never been particularly fond of ostentatious adornment, but Harry had become so infatuated with seeing her wear pieces he'd gifted her that jewellery had become a common gift. He wasn't completely thoughtless however as he always made sure to pair the trinkets with a gift of a more personal significance to his wife as well.

Lili's smile as she looked at the necklace in the mirror shook him by the heart. As if the mirror shifted he could see the woman his daughter would become in but a few short years. It hardly seemed fair that she had to grow up at all. A huge hug was given to both her parents' knees before she dashed out the room to show her sister. A hollow feeling grew in his stomach.

Fleur reached out a hand, touching his cheek, her gaze one of sympathy.

"I know," he muttered, looking away sullenly, although he still saw her lips twitch from the corner of his eye.

Rising on her tiptoes, she pressed a tender kiss to his cheek. "It's time to go," she whispered.

XXXXXXXX

Harry stepped out of the floo, carrying Fayette. Fleur was just finishing up banishing soot from Liliana's clothes when she turned to do the same for the new arrivals.

He looked around at the small, modest home he had bought a few months back. It was entirely muggle except for the installed floo, keyed to accept only his or his wife’s wands. Along with an obsessive amount of magical protections. It had been bought to avoid suspicion from the muggles of Skegness who might wonder why they didn't know where the new family lived. It would serve as a safe way to travel back and forth from their real home without scaring some poor fisherman by apparting down at the docks daily.

Fleur nodded at her assembled family and, satisfied at their immaculate appearance, took Lili's hand in hers before leading them towards the front door. He shifted Fayette in his arms whose mother had managed to get her to wear a cute, blue cloth dress that was thick enough to be worn in the slight bite of August.

His wife was dressed in her typical work attire, usually consisting of a blouse of a varying color, and a smart business skirt. The hose on her legs however, seemed entirely unprofessional, at least to his mind. Something about them always jump started his pulse, shoving away from that particular train of thought, Harry refocused. He'd embarrassed himself enough times over them to last a lifetime already.

Walking outside, the Potters were assaulted by the salty tang of the sea. The seaside town of Skegness was alive and busy, cars scooting down the roads and neighbors rushing out their doors. Due to their property being on the end of a street corner, he waved jovially at their only neighbor. The extremely elderly woman paused her task of knitting to raise a hand in reply, continuing to sway in her rocking chair upon the porch.

"Mrs. Gadys is looking good this morning," he remarked cheekily to his partner as they walked down the sidewalk towards the school.

Fleur snorted, "tease all you want but I'm pretty sure if she was twenty years younger I'd have serious competition."

"Try five," he quipped, laughing at her mockingly indignant expression.

Hogsthrope was strategically only a quick stroll away so the Potters arrived in the middle of a group of parents rushing to drop their children off before heading to work.

Harry scowled when one father dropped his son's lunchbox as he dumbly gaped at Fleur. He fumed silently. Her allure was barely noticeable to muggles unless she focused on them, her control having been perfected over the years.

Ignoring the man, and the many others ogling her, the Veela proudly led her family to the front gate where the headmistress, Ms. Mckinney was waiting.

After exchanging pleasantries the matriarchal woman peered down at Liliana who was trying her best not to fidget from the intense gaze.

"A beautiful girl," the headmistress stated, "and one with a good head on her shoulders judging by her transcript."

Lili's nerves seemed to vanish as a blinding smile lit up her face.

Ms. Mckinney nodded in approval, checking off Lili's name on the attendance sheet attached to her clipboard. "You're in room three, young lady. Say goodbye to your parents and head inside." Turning, the headmistress moved to greet other arrivals.

"You'll do great, ma poulette," Fleur assured their daughter, crouching down. "I'm so proud of you." She then kissed both cheeks before rising up, letting Harry take her place and extricating the oddly quiet Fayette from his hold.

He bent down, wrapping his arms around his tiny, previous lily flower. For a moment the urge to apparate them both away was nearly overwhelming. Instead, he pecked the top of her head before standing up. "Go get 'em," he said, looking down fondly. There was no doubt in his mind that Lili would astound the class and teachers. She was her mother's daughter after all.

Sparing one last smile at her parents and sister, the bright young witchling turned on her heel and skipped towards the school's door.

Harry felt Fleur's arm wrap around his waist, her head leaned against his shoulder. He could hear Fayette sniffling sadly, clutched to the other side of his wife.

Feeling slightly empty but oh, so proud, Harry squeezed Mrs. Potter tight before they turned and began walking back the way they came.

XXXXXXXX

Harry had spent the day gently guiding Fayette through her first lesson. She'd been worn out after her cry and asked continually when 'sissy would be home.' Harry couldn't help but agree with his youngest's sentiment. The house felt larger and lonelier today. Heaving a sigh, he figured it was time he started getting used to it. At least Lili would be home at nights, soon not even that luxury would remain.

Looking over at the time, he decided that moping around halfheartedly trying to keep Fayette engaged in her reading wasn't much use. So he stood up and told his student to put her shoes on so they could go pick up her sister.

She bolted away.

Chuckling, he opened the closet door to pull out his jacket. Fleur had gone to work today, having only taken the morning off so she could see Liliana to school. She wouldn't be home for a while yet. A new project had been frazzling her team at the Edrith Spellweaving Institute, a premier spell-creation think tank. She took an international portkey to Poland twice a day to and from work, often coming home ready to exuberantly discuss her progress on innovating magic itself. It never failed to make him melt.

Tugging on his shoes, he picked up Fayette, who had returned from her own excursion. "Ready, sweetie," he asked, pulling floo powder from the bag on the mantelpiece.

"Go daddy," was the impatiently cross reply.

XXXXXXXX

Harry and his daughter waited with varying degrees of patience outside the gate of Hogsthorpe. A scattering of mums had similarly assembled. He tried to hide his smirk as some of the women eyed him incredulously, a stay-at-home dad an obvious rarity.

His youngest's patience was becoming frayed, her jittery movements an easy tell. "When Lili come," she asked fretfully.

"Just a few more minutes, sweetie."

Fayette shook her head, sending her twin-tails shimmering in the air. "Now, daddy," she said sternly.

He smiled, kissing her on the side of her face. Suddenly a voice spoke to his left, causing him to cock his head to the side, "are you new here?"

The woman who spoke was short in stature, her hair gave the appearance of careful messiness. A white, wide smile graced her face as she met his eyes. She was pretty, he supposed, but how any woman could pick her child up from elementary school while wearing high heels eluded him.

"Moved just a few months back," Harry responded politely. "You?"

"Me? No, my family is practically an institution here. One of the founding families, you know."

He didn't know. Although, he was amused that even muggles apparently thought being a 'founding family' of anything meant something impressive.

Making a noncommittal noise, he looked across the way at the other mothers who seemed to be watching in interest. The woman's voice drew his now confused expression back. "My name is Olivia Ansley, it's a pleasure to meet you."

The black-haired man cocked his head to the side as he scrutinized her quickly, trying to guess her game. "Harry Evans," he responded, using the last name his family adopted for muggle purposes. It never hurt to be too careful when out in the open, especially when you couldn't be sure if former Death Eater's were still trying to find you.

Quickly sizing the woman up, Harry's mind raced at possibilities. There were no magical communities near Skegness but he couldn't be sure wizarding folk wouldn't be around either. Not that a fake name would stop someone from recognizing him or his wife. He and Fleur had considered changing their appearances when taking their children to school but had decided against it. Undoubtedly it would have caused Lili to ask questions they weren't ready to answer yet.

"How old is your daughter?"

The voice jolted him out of his thoughts. Looking at Fayette, he smiled. "Tell the lady how old you are, chicklet."

She shyly held up four fingers before burying her face in his neck. Harry chuckled, "still a tad shy around strangers," he said.

Olivia nodded understandingly, "my boy, Elijah, is eight. What of your eldest?"

Tension ebbing, he relaxed at the normal conversation. Mentally chiding himself that muggle strangers shouldn't be treated with the same suspicion as magical ones, he responded. "Liliana is seven."

"Fayette and Liliana, unusual names. French?"

He nodded affirmatively.

"Unusual but pretty." The woman looked at Fayette who was peeking out from her hiding place. "A pretty name for a pretty lady. She has the most beautiful blue eyes."

"Just like her mother," Harry said proudly. His confusion redoubled as the woman's face turned guarded.

Before further conversation could begin children started pouring out of the school gate. Olivia uttered a goodbye before stalking away. His bemusement only deepened at the change in behavior but such thoughts quickly evaporated when he caught sight of his daughter.

Harry quickly crouched down as Lili ran towards him, engulfing her in a one-armed hug. Fayette started babbling at her sister in greeting, patting her head which was buried in her father's chest.

Smacking a kiss to the crown of her head, he spoke, "had a good day sweetheart?"

Nodding enthusiastically against him, she backed up. "Oh, it was the best," she gushed, "I already knew all the questions and the teacher said I was very bright." Lili's head suddenly whipped back and forth, her strip of silver hair waving behind her. Spotting what she had been looking for, she pointed at another little girl who was talking to an elderly woman who appeared to be her grandmother. "I even made a friend," Lili exclaimed.

Images of a train ride, a toad, and red hair flashed across Harry's mind. Effervescent joy bubbled in his chest. "I'm so happy for you Lili," he murmured. "Can I meet her?"

His daughter nodded rapidly, already tugging him by the hand. The elderly woman looked up at their approach before smiling. "Jasmine was just telling me about her friend, Lili," she said, her voice kind, "would that happen to be you sweet girl?"

Lili beamed at the older woman while grabbing her friend's hand. "Jasmine is super nice, we sat together all day."

As the girls began talking among themselves, with Fayette looking on enviously, the older woman met Harry's eyes. "Good to meet you," she offered, "I'm Prisha Mehta, and you must be Lili's father."

Harry nodded, taking her proffered hand in a warm shake. "I'm lucky to be," he said smiling. "My name is Harry Evans and this is Fayette," he continued, bouncing her against his shoulder. Prisha blinked owlishly at him.

"Two beautiful daughters, a father's greatest curse."

A genuine grin pulled at his lips. "I blame their mother," he joked.

She looked at him apprehensively before her eyes trailed over behind his shoulder. Turning slightly, he saw Olivia buttoning up her son's jacket while casting furtive glances at them.

"I'm not sure your wife is entirely to blame Mr. Evans."

At his confused expression, Prisha laughed. "I'll look forward to getting to know you and your family. Perhaps we can have the girls get together for a playdate soon."

Looking down at Lili gaily talking to Jasmine, Harry smiled. "Indeed."

XXXXXXXX

Lili broke down her entire day for Harry on their walk back home. He had heard the name of every single child in her class, even if he had forgotten them immediately, and the minutest detail of the subjects taught. He listened attentively while sparing her fond glances as she skipped at his side.

The hours back at home passed rapidly, Fayette had been re-energized with her sister’s presence and infectious excitement. The two girls dragged their father through the house to play different games, sometimes multiple at the same time.

By the time Fleur arrived home from work, Harry was exhausted. Fayette had passed out after an intense game of hide-and-seek and Lili was reading a Quidditch starter book gifted from her aunt Angelina.

He watched from the kitchen where he was preparing the evening meal as his wife kicked her heels off in the entryway. With a whoop, Lili rocketed off the couch to hug her mother in welcome. Fleur gave him a tired smile in greeting.

Their daughter began to regale Fleur with the details of her day as Harry quickly put the finishing touches on dinner. Satisfied everything was how it should be, he left the kitchen and followed the voices upstairs. He entered the master bedroom to see his young girl bouncing on the bed while her mother changed out of her work clothes.

He walked up behind Fleur, digging his fingers into the knots on her shoulders, causing her to bonelessly quit her attempts at taking off her skirt. Undeterred, Lili kept talking a mile a minute about her day at school.

Harry pressed kisses to the slender throat exposed to his ministrations, causing her to melt a little more against him. "Long day?" He breathed questioningly against her skin. His wife hummed in response.

Letting go of Fleur's shoulders, to her moan of protestation, he turned to his daughter. "Sweetheart, let's give mama some time to get ready for dinner. You can tell her about your day while we eat, alright? Come help me set the table."

Lili nodded seriously before hopping off the bed and prancing to the door.

"Take your time," he said, looking over at Fleur. She smiled appreciatively at him before unzipping her skirt. He forcibly tore his eyes away from white lace and headed back to the kitchen.

She joined the family a while later, freshly showered and energetic. Immediately, the new schoolgirl launched back into her debriefing as her mother sat down at the dining room table. Harry flicked his wand, summoning the magically-heated pan of ratatouille to the table. Fleur sniffed appreciatively as he began to dish out the food onto their plates.

"Looks delicious," she complimented, eyeing him.

"You did say you wanted something French last night."

"I think I'll want something English later this evening," Fleur murmured coyly.

Harry looked down at his plate and ate a mouthful of food to hide the stupid grin he was sure was on his face.

It wasn't until after dinner and the girls bathed and ready for bed that he got to ask Fleur about her day. She heaved a gusty sigh, "my team got pulled into a project that Desmond's group has been working on. The arithmancy behind it is fascinating but definitely not my forte." She pulled down the covers of their bed before sitting primly on the corner, holding a brush out for Harry's use.

He sat behind her, reveling in their nightly ritual. An easy, comfortable intimacy to end the day.

As the brush gently worked tangles from her hair, she continued. "A number of issues have been cropping up in the spell formulation, it's a new kind of ward supposed to erase all magical properties that pass over it. Similar to the Goblin's enchanted waterfall. Their magic works so differently from ours that we are having trouble replicating it. I'm not even sure it is possible." He nodded, motioning for her to continue, noting that in Fleur's relaxed state, feathers were sprouting along her bare shoulders and arms.

"Maybe you could ask Hermione or Luna about the arithmancy." Harry suggested, "you know they'd love to help you."

She lightly laughed before letting out a relaxed sigh. "Then I really won't understand it. Besides, Hermione is busy preparing to present her Equal Protection proposal for Sentient Beings to the Wizengamot. And Luna is...somewhere in Polynesia."

"Ron told me last weekend that the proposal looked like it might pass, now that the court got reformed," he said absently. "But you are probably right, Hermione would try to help but overcomplicate it whereas Luna would simplify to an unhelpful degree."

Fleur hummed in agreement. "Anyways, we can't seem to find the right combination. Wards are finicky enough on their own, but the additional charms we are layering on them for the dispelling properties make it doubly difficult." She laughed, "actually the experimentation has led to some pretty funny outcomes. Desmond's eyes apparently turned green last week and Roberta's breath became permanently minty today. I'd like to learn how to replicate that effect for some of my other coworkers."

Harry grinned. "How is working with Desmond's team," he asked, "not butting heads over chain-of-command?"

Her crown of platinum hair shook before stilling when she realized the brush was still in her tresses. "No, he and I get along fine. It's the charms expert on his team that irks me."

He scowled, "Ernst?"

"Ja," Fleur replied, giggling.

Rolling his eyes, he responded, "you speak terrible German, no wonder he doesn't like you."

"He likes me  _ too _ much is the problem."

"I can dream."

Fleur turned around, gazing at Harry critically. "You'd rather someone dislike me rather than like me?"

"What can I say, I'm a jealous man," he answered lightly.

His wife sighed, curling up in his lap. The hair brush lay forgotten on the bed. "I wish he didn't like me either, I hate how he looks at me. I feel so dirty coming home." Her feathers shrank away along with her mood.

Harry tensed, his irritation flaring. But that wasn't what his wife needed right now, so instead he wrapped his arms around her and hoped it would give her some measure of comfort.

"You aren't at fault," he said into her hair. When she didn't respond he tightened his hold, "relax, love. Let it go, don't be ashamed."

His tense posture loosened slightly as feathers once again formed along her skin. The nightly preening ritual was supposed to provide quiet intimacy between a Veela and her mate. Allowing her two natures to blend, witch and Veela, in a safe environment. Harry imagined it was a special sort of release after a day of hiding away half your soul.

"Lili was happy," Fleur murmured against his chest, grabbing his attention. "She said you met her new friend?"

"I did, both Jasmine and her grandmother. Seemed like good people."

"We should invite them over sometime, make use of our home in Skegness."

"Yeah."

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

He kissed Fleur's forehead before pressing a kiss to her lips, which had turned yellow and grown slightly hard, the middle-phase of her metamorphosis. He looked down at the woman who’d picked up the pieces of him after the war; who had then married him and given him children. Her love, a gift that still left him humbled by it's intensity. His throat felt tight as he whispered his adoration for her into the night air.

A day of change indeed, but there were certain important parts of his life that never would.

XXXXXXXX

Rotten floorboards creaked ominously as heavy booted steps passed over them. A hooded form flitted from room to room, searching for the insignia of his brethren. His order had been shattered by fools years ago but there still remained those loyal to the righteous cause.

Pausing, the figure took stock of the dust-covered room. It was a library, ransacked of any valuable books. Bare shelves lined the walls and cobwebs hung thick. Stepping lightly into the room, the trespasser ran a crooked finger along the edge of the empty shelves. The fingertip swiping away the obscuring coat of grime. Finally, the mark was found where one shelf corner faced the wall. The raised insignia rough against skin. Pressing it, the bookshelf collapsed in on itself, revealing a small alcove filled with foodstuffs, emergency potions, and galleons.

It took no time at all to ransack the small hideaway. Turning, the figure started to make their exit only to realize that they were no longer alone.

A person sat upon a torn and ratty armchair deep in the shadowy corner of the room. Pressed gray slacks and expensive shoes the only discernible features. One leg atop the other, a slight bounce causing the foot in the air to sway up and down.

Momentarily stunned the pillager lunged into action. Drawing a wand was as far as they got before a stunning spell spat across the floor. Momentarily paralyzed, a man's heavy body fell to the floor, his hood falling away from his head. Dark hair spilled out and furious eyes stared at the still swinging foot of the unknown enemy.

A rich, aristocratic voice spoke from the direction of the armchair. "My oh my, Antonin Dolohov. Renegade Death Eater, killer of muggles and wizards alike, reduced to raiding pantries."

Antonin struggled in vain upon the dirty floor, his nerves refusing to answer his call. "Don't worry or squirm," the voice rolled across the room like honey, "you are among friends. No one is going to the Aurors tonight. I just needed you to listen without interrupting."

A nonverbal spell flipped Antonin's position, causing him to land on his back. The breath whooshed out of him and he stared slightly dazed up at the ceiling. Vague starlight shone through holes in the roof, a spiderweb gleamed directly above him. There was a muffled sound as his assailant rose from his seat followed by soundless steps only discernible from the vibrations they sent along the ground.

"Tell me, friend." A bright, white smile and hateful eyes shone in the dark. "What do you know about Harry Potter?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Fayette is a French name that means "little fairy."
> 
> Language Issues: It should be noted that, as in most bilingual families, both languages – French and English in this case – will be used interchangeably. I won't bother noting when people are using French vs. English because it isn't important to the characters speaking. Harry and his family would typically use French in their home, to expose their children to it, as Lili and Fayette will get exposed to English far more often by nature of where they live. However, if I use a French term such as "mon amour" please assume the language spoken surrounding the phrase is English, which is why the French stands out.


	2. Muggle Relations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hello, thank you for reading my story. Please see my profile for information regarding canon compliance and a general timeline of my interconnected stories. While they are not necessary to read, my short stories add flavor and context.
> 
> Thank you to my beta readers, Astro and LTCMDR Michal Drápalík, you were of great help. Similarly, thank you to the Harry/Fleur discord for being such a lovely, supportive community.
> 
> I own none of the rights, nor make money, nor gain fame, or anything else from Harry Potter.
> 
> Cheers.

"Are you sure?"

"I am," Fleur replied, rolling her eyes at Harry's question.

"I just want you to enjoy tonight, is all," Harry pleaded.

"And I appreciate that," Fleur assured, twining their fingers together as she stood before him in their bedroom. "But we have to make some sort of appearance in Skegness, or people will gossip about the family of hermits. We don't want to draw that sort of attention to ourselves, lest rumors spread."

"Oh? And the rumors of a former French model that I've already heard whispered in the schoolyard? What of that attention?" Harry teased.

Fleur shook her head resignedly, her long braid of silver hair swaying with the movement. "You would think families with children would have better things to do than gossip about newcomers."

"Uh-huh," Harry said, voice dripping with disbelief. "What of your monthly wine night with the Weasley women? Is it not the gossiping there that's caused Ginny to be unable to look me in the eyes for the last month? Not to mention, every time I see Angelina or Audrey they wiggle their eyebrows so hard I'm afraid they'll fall off."

Fleur had the decency to flush slightly, the tips of her ears tinged pink. Her abashed expression faded before a haughty demeanor replaced it. "What of it? Surely you aren't offended that I've gloated about you."

Harry chuckled, drawing her into his arms. "It's nice to be appreciated," he said, dropping a kiss onto the crown of her head.

Fleur nuzzled his chest, sighing slightly. Harry lazily ran his finger up and down her back. "If you want to go out, we can make a night of it. I could pull some strings and get an international portkey to Paris or Italy for the night."

"No," Fleur said resolutely, "I would much prefer a quiet night in and you cooking for me. I just think we should make an effort with the muggles, otherwise the rumors could escalate and affect Lili."

Harry chewed his lip, unable to deny the potential problems for his daughters. "Ok," he relented. "We'll have a nice time cavorting with muggles tonight. But next Friday, I'll wine and dine you as you deserve."

Fleur hummed her agreement into his chest as Harry continued stroking the plumage that had risen beneath his hand along her spine.

After a few minutes of quietly swaying together, Harry disengaged. "I'll run the chicklets over to the Burrow while you get ready," he said, bending down to brush his lips against Fleur's.

His wife gave him a confused look. "What's wrong with what I'm wearing?" she asked.

Truly nothing, he wanted to say. Her work attire consisted of a pale blue blouse and a hip-hugging slate skirt, made his pulse pound. Instead Harry opted for cheek. "Well, you'll need to put in a little more effort tonight. A former French model must keep up appearances, after all."

Harry laughed as he closed the door on the Veela's muttered oaths.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Harry burst into the living room at a run, finding Fayette playing with her stuffed dragon Norbert on the floor while Lili read on the coach. Keeping his momentum, Harry rushed over, sweeping Fayette squealing into his arms. He pranced her about the room to the sound of her chirping squeals, blowing raspberries against her belly and neck.

"Papa, is it time to go yet?" Lili questioned from her prone position upon the couch, not looking away from her book.

Stopping his rambunctious prancing with Fayette, who was still breathlessly giggling against his neck, Harry glanced over at Lili. "Indeed it is, ready?"

Liliana nodded enthusiastically, jumping up from her perch. "Rosie is gonna be there and we're reading the same book."

Harry smiled at his daughter. "It will be nice to have someone to talk to then, won't it."

Lili nodded seriously. Undoubtedly, a long discussion would be had tonight over characters in a book only sixty pages long. Rose and Lili were two peas in a pod, both in age and interests. They were good for each other and Harry desperately hoped that their easy, friendly rivalry would stay that way through school. Gathering up the girls and their things, Harry took the floo powder from the mantlepiece for Lili's use. Speaking clearly, she twirled away. Stepping in after her with Fayette wiggling in his arms, Harry followed.

A wall of noise greeted Harry upon exiting the fireplace. The sound of children's voices and their parents melding together in a wall of welcome sound. A certain hectic energy permeated the rough and tumble home, perpetually cluttered despite Mrs. Weasley's best attempts otherwise. The constant coming and going of her children and grandchildren left the already old, eclectic house in a state of well-loved but well-worn chaos.

Harry felt a fond, if slightly anxious, energy whenever he was there. The first familial home ever opened lovingly for him, offered up in friendship with no expectation or guile. He loved it, garden gnomes and all, even if he preferred the organized, clean state of his own home.

Rose must have spotted Lili as soon as she stepped out of the floo because she rushed over from her seat in Arthur's armchair, a book clutched tight to her chest. Immediately the two girls began chattering, Lili flipping through the pages of her own copy to press a finger excitedly to some particularly interesting passage.

Harry bent to let Fayette scamper away towards the kitchen, undoubtedly looking to claim some baked treats from Mrs. Weasley. He surveyed the living room. Not much had changed since he had first stepped foot here all those years ago. The clock with many hands still pointed to the status of Molly's children. She had tried to add all of her grandchildren a year or so ago, only for the clock to be so overwrought with hands that it was nearly impossible to tell who was where.

Harry allowed his gaze to rest briefly but solemnly on the framed clock hand on the wall below. The name etched along the thin iron bar resonating with the same name etched into Harry's soul. Loss mixed with memories of laughter swirled together in a melancholic rush before settling in Harry's chest. His lips tugged upwards, thinking of fireworks, snackboxes, a Ford Anglia and a young man who smiled as he died.

The noise that had faded to a barely noticeable buzz in the back of Harry's ears broke his introspection.

A dancing Rose jumped up on an ancient, lumpy couch older than Harry himself. Her face tinted red from excitement and exertion as she brandished a wooden spoon at Lili, who, true to form, scowled mightily before picking up Mrs. Weasley's feather duster in opposition. A mighty battle began as the little witchlings acted out a daring scene of action and swordplay from their book.

A heavily mispronounced "en garde" ripped from the throat of Rose, whose 'blade' was swatted to the side by Lili's billowy 'rapier'. Harry smirked to himself as Lili took a quick timeout to help Rose with her pronunciation of the French term, making sure to show Rose how to roll the syllables just right. Upon satisfactory pronunciation, the truce was immediately dispelled as the young girls became fierce warrioresses once more.

No doubt hearing his daughter's shout of delight, Ron poked his head into the living room, a grin overtaking his face as his eyes found Harry watching their daughters do battle. "Mum was just telling me you were coming by to offload your girls on her for the night," the red-head teased, watching the battling youngsters affectionately.

Harry snorted. "Don't take the moral high ground with me. She has your two every other week and Hermione's parents have the interval."

A smirking Ron graced Harry with a superior, indulgent look, as though he was talking to a foolish child. "Well, us working folk have to find a way to de-stress. Not all of us lounge about all day."

Harry hoped the intensity of the evil look he shot Ron sufficiently communicated his outrage. "Lounge about. I ought to sock you for that. You wouldn't last a day dealing with Veela chicklet temper tantrums while trying to teach them number tables and the alphabet."

The frosty air between the two men dissolved as they both grinned at each other, stepping forwards and clasping their arms in greeting.

"Speaking of chicklet temper tantrums," Ron chuckled, reaching out to pluck a downy gray feather out of Harry's hair.

Harry sighed ruefully, "Fayette has been struggling now that her sissy is at school. I thought it was bad when I had to explain why Teddy was going to be gone this year at Hogwarts." A brief ripple of sadness undulated across the waters of Harry's happiness upon seeing Ron. Teddy's first year at the Scottish castle had finally come. He missed his godson almost as much as Fayette missed her older brother in all but blood.

Ron nodded amicably. "Can't say I envy you that, mate. I'll take dealing with other people's children at Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes any day. At least then I can tell them to sod off."

"A real customer service expert," was Harry's dry reply. His mood returned with Ron's humor and the thought that Teddy was having the time of his life learning magic, if the flurry of letters that he'd already sent home was any indication.

At that moment Fayette came gliding into the room, perched atop Molly Weasley's arms, her tiny mouth moving rapidly as she gabbed at Hugo, who was toddling along at his grandmother's feet.

"Ah, there you are dear," Molly said kindly, stopping to let Harry press a quick kiss to her cheek in greeting. "This one is getting awfully big," she murmured, gazing at Fayette, who beamed in response.

"Don't remind me," Harry said sighing gustily. Molly gave him a compassionate look.

"What a sight, Harry Potter, the savior of the wizarding world, struggling with empty nest syndrome," Ron chortled.

"You just wait till Rosie goes off to Hogwarts," Harry snarked mutinously.

Molly laughed softly at her son's pale face. "Nothing wrong with missing your children, you'll still do it even at my age."

Harry's spine stiffened as he watched the red-headed matron's eyes briefly rest on the framed clock hand. He buried the remorse and guilt back where they belonged, succeeding just as Mrs. Weasley's warm brown eyes, shimmering ever so slightly, met his own. A silent understanding passed between them, an acknowledgment and acceptance on both their parts.

Harry reached out, pulling Mrs. Weasley into his arms, the mood of the two adults a sharp contrast to the giggling Fayette smooshed between them.

"You look lovely," Harry said, his voice muffled in Mrs Weasley's mane. The lion red slowly fading as treasonous gray strands began to appear. Her frame shook in his arms as she laughed away his compliment.

"It is good to see you, dearie," she said, holding him out at arms length while giving him a critical once over. Harry squirmed uncomfortably under her examination. She never failed to make him feel eleven again whenever it suited her. She clucked her tongue.

"We've missed you the last two brunches," Molly commented, daring him to give an insufficient excuse.

Harry quailed briefly. "Lili… school… you know," he coughed out, pointedly looking away from Ron's grinning face, looking on with glee over Mrs. Weasley's shoulder.

"Hmm," was the Matriarch's reply, before she patted him on the side of the face. "Well I expect she'll be well settled by the end of this month, yes?"

"We'll be there, wouldn't miss it," Harry responded honestly.

"Treacle tart then, for good behavior," Molly smiled at him affectionately. "How does that sound to you, little miss?" She questioned in a jovial tone, jostling Fayette. The little blonde hiccupped from laughter as she buried her head against Mrs. Weasley's shoulder as she squealed.

"Yes! Trickled Tart the best!"

"Well you two best be off then, don't keep your ladies waiting," Molly stated, shooing them with her free hand toward the fireplace.

A whooshing sound and a flare of flame accompanied Mr. Weasley's form as he stepped out of the floo, effectively interrupting the younger men's departure.

Arthur's hair was receding, his glasses unfashionable and dusty, the coat he wore had more sewn patches than original fabric, and his shoes were so badly scuffed Harry was surprised he didn't see a toe poking through the end. The older man blinked at the sight of the assembled family before him as a gargantuan, brilliant smile broke forth, melting away years from his countenance. The purity of his excitement not dissimilar from a child's.

A few strides of long legs, and a hastily discarded briefcase, had him picking up a shrieking Liliana, still mid-battle with the horrible piratess, 'Rosalind of the High Seas.'

The bitter enemies became allies as Rose leapt to her friend's defense, latching on to her grandad's leg as he wobbled theatrically, still raising Lili up over his head.

"My beauteous flowers," Mr. Weasley exclaimed, "what a soothing balm to my ragged, work-weary soul."

Fayette tittered in Molly's arms, straining to join the fun as she repeated, "worg-worry soul," in between giggles.

Molly let the girl down, who raced with Hugo over to greet their grandfather. Harry smiled after them, watching Mr. Weasley. The gentle wizard who had taught Harry how to be a father. How to be a good man.

Arthur had a way with the children that no one else could seem to match, although George was a close second. The wild young man was fun and certainly got the kids riled. However, Arthur was always the one they went to with a bruised knee or scraped palms.

Ron snorted as his father playfully tottered under the combined assault of four grandchildren, landing slowly and carefully upon the cushioned furniture as the kids declared a prideful victory.

"How he finds the energy, I'll never know," the younger red-head said, a hint of admiration coloring his tone.

Harry stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels, watching the scene happily. Some things were simply worth finding the energy for, Harry thought, as he watched Lili help pull her little sister up onto the couch where Arthur had deposited himself. A soft swear followed by a swift rebuke came from Harry's left.

"Gotta get going mum," Ron said contritely, tapping his watch, "Hermione will have a litter if we don't leave precisely on schedule."

Harry bit the inside of his cheek to stop himself from laughing at Ron's complaint, uttered in such a sappy tone it beggared belief. He kissed Mrs. Weasley's cheek in goodbye and expressed his gratitude for watching the girls before following Ron's departure.

"Thank you Mr. Weasley," Harry called as he walked towards the fireplace.

Arthur opened one twinkling blue eye in response. "See you tomorrow, son. Have a good night with the missus," was the quick reply before his eye screwed back shut in his feigned repose of defeat. The children continued to chatter loudly as they tried to find ways to break their grandfather's possum act.

"Bye daddy," waved Fayette, causing Lili to turn and say her own farewell as Rose beamed at him.

"Have fun girls, be good," Harry tried to inject a stern inflection to his tone but the fond smile on his face likely made it just seem rather foolish, if Ron's chortle was anything to go by.

A stray thought sparked in the black-haired man's mind.

Harry grabbed Ron's arm as it rose to take the floo powder. At Ron's inquisitive gaze, Harry spoke in a low, rushed voice, "Hermione's proposal before the Wizengamot was today, did she say how it went?"

Ron nodded, carefully prying Harry's too-tight fingers off of his wrist. "She said it went well enough. The pureblood and traditionalist factions put up a fuss, but they have few members and less power since the war." The lanky man cracked the knuckles of his left hand. "She was only there to offer up the proposal and answer questions, it will be up to the Progressive party members to get the vote through tonight."

"She has a count of the votes though, right? She's been negotiating for months now."

"We should be good," was Ron's response, a toothy smile taking over his face upon seeing Harry's relieved expression.

"Thanks," Harry said, the words leaving his mouth lifting a weight off his shoulders.

"No problem. See ya soon, mate," Ron said, patting Harry on the shoulder before stepping into the floo.

A few moments later found Harry spinning home.

The living room that greeted him was a powerful departure from the one he had left. In contrast to The Burrow, the one he called home was arranged neatly but comforting.

Large, plush furniture filled the living room. Two large couches forming an L shape around a low-slung brown wood table. Two armchairs sat opposite of one couch, creating an intimate gathering spot that they used frequently when guests came calling.

Accents of their favorite colors were found all about the room. Bright sunshine yellows, Fleur's favorite, were seen in the art and upholstery. None more prominent than the pale yellow loveseat pushed against the huge window that dominated the southern wall. Fleur's favorite spot to sit and read as rain pattered against the paned glass to her side. Deep blues, Harry's favorite collection of shades, mingled with the joyful yellow. A huge, fuzzy, navy blanket was thrown over the top of the yellow loveseat. Phantom touches ghosted over Harry's body as the dark blue color swept over him in a tide of tactile memories.

Sunlight filtered in through the window, disgorging cheerful rays about the room, highlighting the home he and his wife had made.

Turning back towards the fireplace, Harry ran his hands along the stone mantle, cool to his touch. A grin hitched upon his face as he remembered the crudely painted sign he'd made with yellows and blues, the words 'Love Nest' emblazoned across it in his messy scrawl. Fleur had made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat upon first seeing it, and he had been teased mercilessly. But for some reason, it had stayed proudly displayed upon the mantle until Liliana had been born. Now it hung on the back of Harry and Fleur's bedroom, he couldn't help but admit the token had found a more fitting place of rest.

Now a collection of pictures rested proudly on the stone lip of the fireplace. Ron and Hermione with their children - Ron laughing with a newborn Hugo in his arms while Hermione attempted to untangle her curls from her own daughter's unruly head of copper hair. Percy and Audrey at their wedding - Audrey's belly ripe with their firstborn, Molly - while Percy smiled proudly, one hand on his beaming wife's back and another on her round stomach. A picture of George being yelled at by Angelina, their son Fred laughing maniacally as his first birthday cake dripped off his face and the walls from an experimental firework candle gone haywire.

Harry's fingers drifted up to trace his favorite, the picture of Hagrid cradling his goddaughter Fayette in his arms, the newborn girl looking extremely tiny in the tender but huge arms of the half-giant. Gabrielle, on a stepstool, peeking over Hagrid's elbow at her goddaughter, a soft smile on her face as she clutched onto the bushy-haired man's arm for support.

"They make quite a pair, don't they?" an amused, songlike voice floated from behind him.

"The aspiring French fashion designer and the wild groundskeeper?"

Fleur hummed as she stepped behind him, a hand coming to rest on his shoulder. "A fine friendship for them both. Gabby has worked extremely hard to make Hagrid's birthday cakes edible for our little girl," she said, "we have her to thank for Fayette's intact teeth."

Harry grinned, "Don't forget Hagrid helped your sister get over her fear of spiders." Still smiling, he turned to face his wife.

The words meant to continue their conversation derailed in his throat, crashing and dying forgotten as his focus was wiped away and replaced with blue and silver. Harry had always felt particularly bewitched by Fleur's eyes. The shifting deep blue hues of her irises were gravity-altering, pulling Harry's attention with the shattering strength of an imploding star. Yet, that exquisite beauty was objective, shallow. To Harry, to him alone, they were a siren's song. Not to lead him crashing into a cliff or a watery demise, but to harbor, to home. Those eyes beget safety. A comfort born and proven over the years he had known her.

The beauty of a good listener, priceless compassion, a robustness of character, a powerful realness and intellect that made all other women look thin and fragile as paper in comparison. That was his wife. That was who she was when her name was Fleur Delacour and it was her now that she was a Potter.

Yet, for all the honesty of her soul, Fleur Potter was still a stunningly gorgeous woman.

The river of silver that was her hair had been braided and wrapped into a bun at the back of her head. The elegant twists, eye-catching on their own, were heightened by the sunflower yellow hair clip nestled at the top of the braided bun, a splash of color in the shape of gently curving wings. It was a gift from her mother, given after Fleur's rite-of-passage when she turned eighteen.

The orange light of an autumn sun served it's only purpose as a spotlight, throwing the nearly invisible freckles under Fleur's eyes into view. Constellations only Harry had ever been close enough to map out fully. His eyes continued their descent. Delicious lips, at times both generous and demanding. A neck, sumptuous and slender, curving to meet the narrow bridge making up her collarbones.

A dress of burnt sienna wrapped about one shoulder before flowing downwards, resting at the middle of her calves. The dress accentuated as much as it hid, hinting at the lush lines of Fleur's figure, all delicate curves and cutting angles. An outfit whose modesty was made a mockery by the woman who wore it.

Through sheer force of will Harry reengaged his brain. He had to compliment her, let her know just how jaw droppingly magnificent she was, how his heart beat with his love for her. She smiled at him, watching, waiting, knowing. Poems formed and died on his tongue.

"Fuck," he said distractedly.

A delectably raised eyebrow, a twitch of her lips, a dance in her eyes, "Dinner first, I think," was her breathy, amused reply.

Harry shook his head, chiding himself. Caught flat-footed at his own wife's beauty, a ridiculous notion to be sure, if a fairly uncommon one in his life. "No, damn it. Give me a redo," he muttered resolutely, glancing at her.

She nodded solemnly at him, a hint of glee quickly stifled.

Harry cleared his throat, scratched the back of his head, shuffled his feet a bit, and looked at her. He had always been bad with words. It had taken him months to feel decent about his wedding vows. His ineloquence was a source of anxiety at times. Fleur deserved good words, beautiful words, words that extolled her character and significance. Harry just could never seem to construct them correctly.

Fleur waited patiently for him, watching him silently.

"You are… a gorgeous autumn day given form," he said, gesturing to the yellow hairclip and reddish-orange dress. Blood suffused his cheeks, he could feel the burning of his face acutely. A sense of smallness and stupidity eroding him.

His wife smiled, reaching up to pull him by his collared shirt downwards so that her lips could reach his. They were hungry, possessive. Harry deepened the kiss, his hands clutching at the small of her back, right above the delectable swell of flesh below. His mouth seeking, claiming… worshipful. A low, feminine moan vibrated against his tongue.

Harry felt drunk, victorious, in love. The taste of pomegranates he associated with his wife overtaking his senses as he tried to show her without clumsy words what she meant to him.

Yes, words had never been his strong suit. He preferred action.

XXXXXXXX

Harry opened the door of San Rufo's, allowing Fleur to breeze ahead of him. He couldn't be sure if it was his own hearing falling away at the striking figure she made upon entering or if the riotous noise of the restaurant actually choked into silence at her appearance. The Italian restaurant had an intimate feel and was stylishly decorated. He stepped next to his wife, an arm wrapping around her waist as she leaned against him.

A nervous tingle ran up and down Harry's back like spider legs. The hair on the nape of his neck standing to attention like soldiers. He felt on display. The attention of the formal eatery unerringly focused on the new arrivals. A tightening of his fingers upon Fleur's waist stopped him from running the digits nervously through his hair.

A gawking waiter, a man no older than nineteen, stared dumbly at them for awhile before stammering out a partly intelligible sentence that included words that could be vaguely construed as 'table' and 'two.' Nodding, Harry asked for seating in a corner, which the waiter blinked at and, with only a slight stumble, led them towards. The citizens of Skegness followed their passage with stares and muted conversation. Fleur held her head proud and high, her back straight. A Fleur he recognized, even though he was happy to know her confidence and security of self were no longer feigned behind a haughty shield as it had been his fourth year.

Purposefully dim lighting at the table for two lent a private veneer to an otherwise crowded restaurant. Harry pulled the chair out for his wife before taking his seat, back towards the wall in the corner, his eyes scouring the restaurant and entrance that was fully visible from his choice of seat.

Harry looked up curiously at the waiter that was still standing next to them. Rolling his eyes at Fleur who grinned at him before politely asking the young man for the menus. As the blushing employee briskly walked away to retrieve the forgotten items back at the front, Fleur sighed.

"The place seems nice, at least," she said, leaning towards Harry.

His eyes snapped up, caught by the mirthful face of Fleur.

Harry coughed, turning his face away slightly from the predatory gleam in his wife's eyes. "Yes, the… atmosphere is quite lovely." He pinched the skin of his thigh viciously beneath the table. Married for around a decade and he still managed to make a wreck of himself. She was definitely seeking her retribution for his earlier impudent model comment, her posture was too deliberately tempting otherwise.

A throaty chuckle bubbled from Fleur's lovely neck. "Mmm, indeed. Atmosphere is a most important aspect of any restaurant." Harry found himself fascinated with the way her mouth formed words, captivated as he was the menus flopping to the table jolted him. A smirking Fleur watched as he flushed and hastily put his wand back up his sleeve and out of sight while the waiter walked away.

Chiding himself, Harry picked up the menu, glad to have an excuse to avoid embarrassing himself by making bumbling small talk with the mother of his children.

A demure hand crept along the white tablecloth before grasping his. He smiled, his face hidden by the menu in front of him. Her wedding band catching the low lighting, sending a shower of rainbowed brilliance outwards. Fondness welled up, his own band of platinum warming on his ring finger, thrumming with a magic inherent to the union it represented.

"Is there a reason you seem to enjoy taking me to Italian restaurants?"

Harry smiled, remembering his first date with the witch across from him. He had been an anxious mess. He wondered idly if Fleur would ever stop having that effect around him. It seemed unlikely… and unwanted.

"Something about Italian food seems fancy, I suppose," he mused, eyeing her from over his menu. "Have to impress the affluent French girl with my good taste."

An unladylike snort was the only response he got before the waiter returned, asking for their choice of food and drink. Fleur's response was said in lilting Italian, her accent nearly perfect from long childhood summers spent in the country with her family. Harry thought his own butchered request was moderately understandable.

Fleur curved a delicate eyebrow as she turned to him once the waiter left, her lips tugging upwards. "Consider me impressed, I've never heard such a confident massacre of a language in a simple food order before."

"Clearly you've forgotten your struggles teaching me French."

A bell-like laugh chimed out, turning heads around them, "I was besotted enough then to find it endearing." She smiled at him, simultaneously teasing and tender.

"I'm quite sure the figure of speech mentions love being blind, not deaf."

"Perhaps," Fleur admitted, "but mine is neither. After all, I've both watched you attempt sewing and heard you sing."

"Ah, but you love me still, even after witnessing the abomination of a teddy bear I made for Lili."

"I love you in spite of it," she mocked, her chin resting on the hand not intertwined with his over the table. "The deficiencies were not overlooked."

"A bargain could be made," Harry began thoughtfully, tapping a finger to his chin. "Perhaps, you could agree to disregard my mastery of the Italian language, if I take no notice of your snoring or inability to cook."

Fleur's eyes glinted dangerously. "It is unfortunate that neither of those… character traits are true in my case, no?"

Harry gulped, making a show of stretching his collared shirt away from his neck nervously. "Yes, dear. Of course, dear," he mumbled contritely.

Peals of laughter rang out once again. Harry couldn't help but join in. They stifled their mirth, not wanting to draw further attention to themselves. His heart felt light, as though he was a teenager again, learning how to partake in Fleur's delight of witty banter. An economic use of words far more worthy to her than flirtation.

"I see my lessons have finally sunk in," Fleur said, slightly breathless still as she squeezed his hand.

Harry attempted a pout only to have Fleur laugh at him before she spoke. "It is an unlucky thing that our daughters didn't inherit their sulky expressions from their father. They certainly would have been spoiled less."

He smiled ruefully, if a bit affectionately. "Yes, unfortunate indeed that they learned how to extort their father by watching their mother."

His wife peered down her nose at him in faux condescension, "I doubt you would have presented them a challenge otherwise."

"No," Harry admitted, "no, I don't think I could have."

His dining companion beamed at him. "They couldn't have a better father," Fleur's voice was soft, laden with care. Her heavily-lidded eyes darkened.

The sudden staccato of his heartbeat thumped against the confines of it's cage in his chest. Fatherhood, the ghoulish fear of inadequacy so potent it had once threatened to obliterate him licked at the corner of his mind before dissipating. His lips split into a brilliant smile of gratitude. "Or mother," he whispered with conviction, his gaze locked to hers.

The moment was interrupted by movement in the corner of Harry's eye. A few seconds later, the food was being served and Fleur and Harry had to lean away from one another to make room.

The dinner was pleasant and the food satisfactory. Unfortunately, the stares of patrons made Harry increasingly uncomfortable. Judging by the way Fleur had begun to tap her fingers against his hand, he knew she was similarly affected.

Harry felt a familiar surge of protective irritation. Regardless of the couple's natural predilection towards introversion, they should still have the option of enjoying a night out without being the subject matter of gossip, he thought to himself. Muggle and magical alike offered no respite.

Muggles were especially frustrating for Harry. They had no excuse, as far as he was concerned, for such discourtesy. They could only be affected by an allure if the Veela focused, unlike wizarding folk.

The 'allure,' as it is known, was actually a subtle hum to a Veela's magic. An inaudible frequency existing like a chimeric amalgamation somewhere between magic and sound. Closing your ears blocked it out, to some extent, if you were a distance away. Muggles were less affected because the allure acted as a tuning fork, causing the magic of wizarding folk to shiver in response.

Unlike the popular characterization of it, the allure didn't necessarily cause attraction. Rather, it amplified whatever feeling a person had when looking at a Veela. An insecure man may espouse his grand deeds or become crushed under his inadequacy. A woman envious of beauty may turn spiteful or wistful. And someone who despised anything but pure blood would turn hateful and vicious.

Fleur's father had once told him of the difficulties Veela faced, but being with Fleur had shown him the true cruelty of it.

Those with magic seemed just as bigoted as their mundane counterparts. They had systematically oppressed and discriminated against non-human beings for a millenia. Fleur had told him of the registrations 'half-breeds' were forced to go through, the scant job opportunities, and lack of legal protections. Such things weren't taught in a History of Magic, a collective shame willing to be forgotten by society. Her tales had also turned Harry's remembered comprehension of Remus's struggles in life into harsh understanding.

It was no wonder so many chose to hide their true nature or live in denial. It was why many decided to live far away from magical communities. Harry couldn't help but accept how it had been so easy for Voldemort to find allies.

A soft nudge of a high-heeled foot brought Harry back to the present. His thoughts and mood stopping their downward spiral. He weakly smiled at Fleur, acknowledging her silent rebuke. Tonight was for them, not dark thoughts.

Harry felt the iron band around his chest burst upon in relief as they left the watchful eyes behind in the restaurant. Hand-in-hand, Fleur and Harry walked down the sidewalk towards the pier. The sun had dipped below the horizon while they ate, starlight warred with the glow of streetlamps as night took over the town of Skegness.

Dark water sloshed beneath their feet as they strolled along old wooden planks. Other couples were around them but Harry forced himself to pay them no heed. A toasty, delicate hand pulled him tight against Fleur's side before it slipped away from his grasp, only to wind around his waist before being stuffed in his coat pocket.

The air had a bite of autumnal chill, a shiver traveled from his companions form to his own. Harry fingered his wand in his sleeve, casting a warming charm over them both. A smile both bright and soft shined up at him.

Reaching the end of the pier, the two stood silently as they watched the sea. The wind caused them to sway slightly in unison.

"We seem to have a fondness for dark waters," Fleur remarked, humor coloring her tone just as the Veela colored the night around them.

Harry looked down at her as his witch continued to stare out at the lapping waves. Remembering a day of tentative wonderment near a black lake.

"The schoolboy and the Veela," Harry ventured, "a title to rival any of the bodice-ripper Veela bond romance novels."

Fleur's surprised laugh at Harry's joke turned into a small coughing fit. She tweaked his nose. "The amount of incorrect information they stuff into those… books," the word an obvious chore for Fleur to use, "is astounding."

Harry glanced at her, "wait, you mean a wizard can't bind a Veela to him, making her amenable to his every whim," Harry affected a look of affronted confusion. "I can't believe Madam Vivelda lied to me."

Fleur rolled her eyes, "her books aren't even the worst, you should see what I catch some of my own co-workers reading sometimes."

"No," Harry gasped appalled. "They can't honestly read that tripe in front of you."

His wife sighed, "some of them have the decency to blush or hide it. Others… seem almost delighted to show it off."

"Damn them and damn all the airheads printing the rubbish," Harry muttered bitingly.

"Don't be angry, it should be the cause of hilarity not irritation. We are misunderstood and mischaracterized, but the notions of fools have never bothered us. Nor should they you." Fleur's tone was soothing, a caress to Harry's bruised mood.

"Angèle still sends me ones with particularly good titles," Fleur mentioned, resigned amusement evident, her attempt at levity evident.

"Your cousin must have extra time on her hands since she can't work while pregnant," Harry was glad of the opportunity to change the topic.

"Mmm," Fleur vocalized. "I imagine so. Last I saw her she already looked more belly than woman. We'll get news in the next month or two."

"She'll be relieved to no longer fear rolling down the hills around her home."

"I'm going to tell her you said that," Fleur declared, cackling when Harry paled.

"You wouldn't dare," he said.

"I think you'll find me most daring indeed," was her taunting reply. A joyful gleam shone in her eyes, her mood buoyed by the turn in conversation.

Smirking impishly at his witch, Harry spoke, "it certainly was daring to wear such a… provocative outfit tonight. The town already had trouble believing you a mother of two without flaunting such an unfair figure."

Fleur snorted, arching a delicate brow at him. "My aim was only to provoke you, a task too easily accomplished considering the location of your gaze through dinner."

Harry mumbled in a disgruntled, if good-natured manner. "I was simply worried you'd strain your back, leaning forward so often."

A feminine snicker was her only riposte as they reached the end of the pier.

Harry peered down at his wife, a soft smile was on her lips, her eyes calm as she stood nestled at his side. How little her face had changed since he had met her, yet how much she had grown in his estimation. Wisps of memory floated about him, carried by the same wind that caused Fleur to press herself tighter to his side.

"I'll never forget the surprised look on your face the first time I kissed you," The words left Harry's throat of their own accord but he wouldn't take them back regardless.

Fleur flushed charmingly. "You're lucky you didn't get burned," Fleur muttered somewhat shyly. "Surprising a young Veela like that."

"Very lucky," Harry agreed, the timbre of his words leaving no doubt as to their larger meaning.

She glanced up at him bashfully, a vulnerability she rarely showed in public. A pink tongue darted out, wetting her lips.

Upon a pier jutting out like a sword into the inky belly of the sea, Fleur rose up on tiptoes to kiss Harry. It was not tentative, but it was full of wonder.

XXXXXXXX

A large tawny owl pecked the window pane in the kitchen where Harry was cooking breakfast. With a lazy wave of his wand he let in the familiar bird, who dropped a copy of the Daily Prophet on the counter before flying back out, not taking even a moment to relax. Harry shook his head. Hermione's owl had the same ridiculous work ethic she did.

The front page displayed a photo of an impassioned Hermione Granger-Weasley before the Wizengamot, the title above his crusading best friend hitting Harry hard: " _Sentient Being Act Passes - Progressive or Dangerous?_ " A bittersweet feeling rose like bile in Harry's throat. A victory, yes. But social opinion would be the harder test still.

A test made more obvious by the article directly following the Wizengamot vote. Azerbaijan was apparently passing increasingly and intolerably oppressive laws against werewolf communities in their nation. Harry's blood ran thick and hot as the journalist detailed the camps and enchanted collars. He was incensed not only by the inhuman cruelty but the reporter's un-antagonistic view of the whole sordid affair.

Harry sat on the pale yellow loveseat as he ate, reading the paper in front of him while he waited for Fleur to return from the Burrow with the girls. They only had about an hour before Jasmine and her grandmother came calling on their Skegness home.

Finishing his food and snarling in disgust at the paper, Harry rose just as the fireplace flared, ejecting his womenfolk into the living room.

Harry called out a greeting as Lili and Fayette rushed to hug him about legs. Depositing a kiss on both their heads, he listened to them describe in breathless detail the adventures they'd had at the Burrow. Harry looked up to see Fleur watching them earnestly as she munched an apple.

"Ready?" He questioned, raising an eyebrow.

The girls yelled their agreement, and Fleur rose up as she finished swallowing the apple core. Harry had never understood this particular Veela picadillo but Angèle had only made a joke about birds and seeds when he'd asked. Harry had long since stopped going to her for insight about Veela.

Harry stooped to pick up the bags of toys and food he had packed to fill the muggle house so it appeared reasonably lived-in, while Fleur gathered up the girls for another floo trip.

A short while later found Harry frantically packing food items into the kitchen while the kettle heated. Fleur was busy attempting to make the muggle home less immaculate, while Fayette and Lili giggled. They were in their element, the children's natural ability to be messy finally coming to use.

A vibrating wand signaled their guest's arrival before the doorbell did. With a loud whoop, Lili rushed to the door, wrenching it open before Harry could chastise her.

Harry strolled around the kitchen corner to greet the two visitors. Prisha was a lovely older woman, her beautiful, colorful sari worn with poise. Her face was lined with wrinkles but laugh lines were the most evident. Her eyes shone beneath hair remarkably black for her age.

Jasmine was a reserved girl who stood next to her grandmother, dressed in a simple pleated skirt and top. Her long dark hair pulled up in a braided crown. She grinned timidly at Lili, the two girls stopping momentarily, gauging the reaction of the other. Obviously deciding that their friendship was not just relegated to school grounds, Lili grabbed Jasmine's hand, pulling her inside just as Harry greeted Prisha.

"A good home," the older woman complimented, shuffling her feet on the welcome mat and looking around politely.

"It's been pleasant to us," Harry responded carefully, just as Fleur breezed in from her task of mussing up the girl's bedrooms.

Prisha's eyes widened as Fleur's radiance permeated the room with her smile. The aged woman glanced up at Harry before saying. "Two beautiful girls and a beautiful wife, a man cursed with luck indeed."

Harry barked out a laugh. "I did tell you it's all her doing," he said while gesturing behind him with his thumb at Fleur as she floated up alongside them.

"What is he blaming me for now?" she questioned cheerfully, wrapping an arm around his waist.

Prisha looked at him askance before speaking, "Only for gifting your looks to your daughters, as to the rest, I could not know."

Fleur grinned indulgently at him before extending her hand in welcome. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Lili has talked of little besides Jasmine since Monday."

Prisha nodded in agreement, a soft smile overtaking her face as she watched Lili introduce Jasmine to an equally sheepish Fayette.

"Jasmine has struggled to make friends," Prisha confided. "She's been just as ecstatic about befriending Lili."

"Come into the kitchen, we've put the kettle on for tea," Fleur invited, "unless you'd prefer something else."

"Tea will be just fine, thank you."

Settling at the kitchen island on high stools where the adults could keep an eye on the playing children in the adjacent room, Harry realized he had no idea how to make Muggle small talk.

Luckily, Fleur was a far more capable conversationalist, drawing their visitor into an easy dialogue about the town and how long Prisha had lived there.

Harry chimed in appropriately but was content to mostly watch the platinum-haired witch at work.

Something that did not go unnoticed. "I've never seen a man so besotted with his own wife before," Prisha remarked drily, an hour or so into the visit. Fleur threw her head back to let out a tinkling laugh. As the sound of windchimes faded away, Fleur tossed Harry a sweet look.

"He's just on his best behavior today," the witch said saucily with a wink. "Have to impress the guest and all."

"Somehow I doubt that," was the older woman's reply. "He seemed equally smitten when we first met and you weren't even there."

Harry spluttered, "I was certainly not." His attempt to regain honor was laughed away by the women.

"Didn't even notice the heavily interested single mothers," Prisha mentioned conspiratorially to Fleur who grinned evilly at him.

"Oh," she said archly, "been attracting wandering gazes have you?"

Both ladies snickered at Harry's lost expression.

"He doesn't even realize," Prisha commented in amazement.

"No," Fleur answered fondly, "and I love him all the more for it."

The playdate went exceedingly well, all things considered. Harry had only needed to run intervention a few times with Jasmine and Prisha while Fleur rushed a thrilled, feathered Veela chicklet into another room to calm down.

Harry's steps were lively as he walked Prisha and Jasmine to the end of the driveway after a few hours had passed. He hummed a ditty exuberantly as he waved them goodbye, thanking them once again for coming to call.

Lili waved from the window as her first friend strolled down the street with her grandmother in tow. A brilliant, toothy grin adorning her face.

XXXXXXXX

That night, Fleur and Harry lay in bed quietly reflecting on the week behind them. The girls had been exhausted and gone to sleep with little fuss. Fayette had barely made it through a single Veela lullaby before succumbing to dreams. Harry had taken extra care with Fleur's preening tonight, stroking her hair with the brush and plucking frazzled and frayed feathers from her shoulders and arms.

Summoning his courage, Harry ventured into the silence.

"The Act passed."

The quiet lengthened as Harry stroked the pale skin of his wife in the darkness.

"Full employment benefits and equal protection-"

"Nothing will change, 'Arry," came Fleur's velvet rebuke.

Harry shifted, searching the night for the blue flames of her eyes.

"They might," Harry urged.

One cerulean orb opened lazily.

"Even if they don't right away, this is a big step. Even a small difference can change things," the black-haired wizard argued.

"Mon cœur, you did not grow up in this wizard's world," came Fleur's soothing reply. "You did not grow up a 'creature.'"

"Don't call yourself that."

The pile of platinum against his side shifted as Fleur rose onto her side, looking down at him. Her face shone like the moon as her silver hair fell about their entwined bodies. "It is what they have always called me, what they will continue to call me. Regardless of an act or two."

The stillness of the room was broken by Harry's bitter rejoinder, "I can't accept that. I won't."

Fleur gave him a sad, soft smile. A hand cradled his cheek as she comforted him with her understanding. "Our daughters have a huge family that loves them, that will be enough."

"Hermione wants to make the proposal go international," Harry said, shifting the topic slightly. The idea of Lili or Fayette being persecuted causing a jagged wound that Harry naturally shied away from.

"The ICW?" Fleur asked, a hint of surprise curling from her tongue.

"Yes, they have a September term this year."

Blue eyes narrowed dangerously, "England doesn't have the political impetus to get such an unpopular resolution passed."

"No," Harry agreed lightly, "they do not."

Her suspicions confirmed, Fleur pressed on, "so why would Hermione believe she could push it forward?"

Harry chewed on the inside of his cheek, looking away from the accusing oceans above him. "She asked for our help." The admission shuddered it's way out of him, fluttering away into the now hushed room.

"And you agreed?" Quiet, controlled.

"No, not without asking you. As I am now."

A french oath spun dizzily into the night.

"Fleur, please. Think of what it could mean for the girls-," Harry pleaded.

"You will put our family into a spotlight they are not ready for, 'Arry," Fleur responded sharply.

"They won't be there, it will just be you and I. And we will always be in the spotlight, by our choice or not."

"You don't know what I mean. This will make us the poster family of the act internationally. It lives and dies by us and we by it." The words exploded from Fleur's breast, tearing their way up and out, ransacking the tranquility of the bedroom.

Harry stilled.

Minutes passed as they lay unmoving.

His hand began it's sweep down her back once again.

"I didn't think of it like that." A confession, an apology.

"I know what you thought," Fleur whispered contritely, reaching up to trace his lips. "I shouldn't have gotten angry."

"No, I should have considered what this meant more thoroughly."

Fleur touched her forehead to his, their eyelashes caressing one another. "You do not understand how I can be so resigned," Fleur commented gingerly.

Harry looked at the Veela he had given himself to. "Not really," he admitted. "But you are right. I don't have the experiences you do."

Fleur's eyes turned searching, drifting over his face. "I don't want you to change what is best of yourself, 'Arry." A declaration, a wish flaring like a lighthouse. "Never."

After some lengthy, silent rumination on her part Fleur locked her gaze onto Harry's face. "Perhaps," she murmured, "if other notable families are gathered it won't fall onto us alone."

"I doubt it would make a difference," Harry grimaced.

Fleur smiled at him, "But a small difference can change things, no?"

A genuine, hopeful grin tugged at his lips. "One already has," Harry whispered, leaning up to capture his wife's lips just as they did nearly ten years ago.

XXXXXXXX

His wand vibrated in it's holster. Harry frowned as he pulled it out, unsure of the cause. With a swish, the wand halted its movement as a red orb began blinking periodically in front of him. The brief moment of forgetful confusion burst like confetti as Harry rushed into motion nearly tripping over the child's harpsichord at his feet. He stopped near one of the plump armchairs in the living room to ensure Fayette remained in her nap before heading towards the fireplace.

A short spin later found Harry stepping into his muggle home, the sound of a ringing telephone blaring through the house. Harry moved towards it, glad that the muggle technology worked. He had been careful to use only non-intrusive warding spells, placed on the perimeter of the home, far enough away to not cause magical interference.

Picking up the device, Harry spoke, "Hello, Evans residence?"

"Ah, Mr. Evans, thank you for picking up," said a cheerful, unfamiliar voice. "I'm Jana, the receptionist for Hogsthorpe Academy, we've had an incident today with Liliana that requires your presence."

Harry's blood ran cold as thoughts galloped about his head. "What sort of incident, is she alright?" He knew she had to be, the magical protections and artifacts she took to school everyday would tell him otherwise. But the worry of a father overrode logic.

"Yes, she is fine. Just got in a bit of a tiff with another student. Are you or your wife available now?"

Harry rubbed his forehead in agitation at the blasé tone of the woman. "Yes, I'll be there shortly," he stated before hanging up. Turning, he made his way back to the fireplace. Throwing in a pinch of floo powder, Harry bent down to thrust his head into the flames.

The living room of Andromeda Tonks came into wavering view. The older woman stepped into sight before Harry finished calling out her name. She was a beautiful, regal witch. Graying, brown hair was cut short about her high cheekbones. The marring of old age only evident by slight creases near the eyes on her aristocratic face. But for all the cold nobleness her lineage afforded her, it could not withstand the undiluted charm of her kindhearted smile.

"Is something wrong, Harry?" Andromeda asked, kneeling on the hearth rug.

"Something happened at Lili's school, I'm going over to meet with the headmistress," Harry said hurriedly. "Fayette is having her afternoon snooze, would you mind-"

"I'll pop right over," Mrs. Tonks interrupted firmly but considerately. "You get going." A twinkle in her eye preceded her humor. "Looks like Lili takes after her father more than just the eyes."

Harry grinned, still a tad anxious. "Please, I at least waited until Hogwarts to become a troublemaker."

After a quick expression of gratitude, Harry pulled his head out of the fire. He moved towards the door while casting a siphoning charm on himself to get the soot off.

The skies were overcast, pregnant gray clouds laden with rain yet to fall. Skegness was quiet, the townsfolk still busily going about the day with their work and lives.

Harry's brisk pace cut the leisurely morning walk to school in half. Upon arriving, Harry slid his wand forwards until the tip rested against his hand. The contact of his palm to the wood enough to invoke the wards, checking their security and status.

The front door was opened and shut behind him in short order. The receptionist, Jana, beamed robotically at his entrance. Her eyes comically widening as they traced the motley collection of scars on Harry's exposed arms. He cursed inwardly. Forgetting to put on a coat in his haste and leaving home in his short-sleeve shirt was bound to cause curiosity about the damaged stay-at-home-father.

Stopping in front of her desk, Harry attempted to ignore the middle-aged woman's roving eyes. "Mr. Evans, here to see Headmistress McKinney," his tone clipped and business-like.

Bobbing her head absently, the woman muttered the location of her boss's office.

Skirting the desk, Harry made his way past the brightly colored welcome room, heading towards the indicated door.

A pull of the handle revealed an extremely tidy office. The only hint of character besides fastidious organization were the finger-painted pictures that covered nearly every available inch of the room. Pieces of art from students were proudly displayed next to college degrees, awards, and certificates.

Ms. McKinney sat composed across her large desk. Hair in a neat slate-colored bun, not a strand of hair out of place. Her jowls sagged slightly with age but her brown eyes were alight and intent.

"Ah, Mr. Evans," she declared, "thank you for joining us, please be seated." The headmistress gestured to the array of chairs in front of her, three of which were filled. His daughter, Liliana, looked behind her shoulder at him, green eyes full of worry.

The other two seats were filled by Olivia Ansley and her son, Elijah. Harry's brow furrowed. A prickly feeling working its way up his spine.

Olivia was dressed expensively and formally, as though she had just been called from a dinner party. Jewelry dripped from her neck and wrists, her makeup was artfully done, and a pearly white smile sat upon her youthful face.

Elijah looked bored.

"Hello, Mr. Evans, good to see you again. I wish it was for a better reason of course," she tittered. Her voice was as well manicured as she was.

Harry nodded in greeting as he pulled out the chair and sat.

"Whoa, how'd you get those," an excited voice rang out. Harry looked over to see Elijah at the edge of his seat pointing at Harry's arms.

A scowl was quickly smothered, replaced with what Harry hoped was a calm, paternal expression. "I used to handle dogs for a living," unfortunately his sarcastic tone betrayed the mature disposition he had attempted.

The boy shook his head vigorously, "no way, those look like knife-," the kid was cut off by his mother who gave him a reprimanding look.

"I'm sure Mr. Evan's doesn't want to talk about his… dog-walking business," Olivia said, shooting a conspiratorial glance his way. "Especially with how little he must have enjoyed it."

Harry grinned at her attempt at levity, "I liked the dogs just fine," he said. "They just didn't like me."

Olivia giggled. Elijah still stared open-mouthed at the myriad of scarred flesh that ran up and down Harry's arms, uncowed by his mother's rebuke.

Looking down at Lili, he watched as she twisted her hands together nervously in her lap, eyes darting up at him and downwards. Harry reached over and gently grasped one of her hands in his. She stilled before placing her free hand atop his knuckles, her shoulders sagging as the tension rushed out of her. Harry frowned.

"We asked you both here today because of an incident that happened earlier," Ms. McKinney began, her tone clipped. "Liliana and Elijah got into a verbal argument that resulted in his bag being ripped apart." The headmistress held up the boy's red school bag. A large seam had been torn down the middle, in a nearly perfect line.

Harry nodded as he considered his next move. Judging by Lili's anxiety and the state of the bag, accidental magic had occurred. The why was slightly less important than the who. He needed to know if any Muggle had seen the bag seemingly ripping of its own accord.

"Did anyone see what happened," Harry asked concernedly, hopeful that his tone would be construed as typical for a worried parent.

"Apparently, no one saw the bag rip until it's contents fell to the floor," Ms. McKinney said, her eyes piercing.

Harry cocked his head to the side, "so what happened, exactly?"

"Their classmates reported that Elijah was taunting one of the students, Liliana stepped in and an altercation broke out. Neither of them will admit to what happened regarding the destroyed property." At this, Ms. McKinney looked at the two children in turn. "We do not allow violence or disrespectful words at this academy. Do you both understand?"

The children nodded their heads. Only Lili seemed genuinely contrite. Elijah once again appeared uninterested.

Olivia voiced her displeasure, "I'm sure my Elijah wouldn't be rude on purpose. Perhaps it was just childish ribbing gone too far?" She looked at Harry. "Kids can be a tad willful, you know, rambunctious," her tone beseeching.

Harry scratched the side of his head uncomfortably, unsure why she seemed to want him to understand. "Right," he mumbled, his eyes darting towards the headmistress. He could have sworn he saw a tiny smile before her face was a cool mask once again.

Leaning over to Lili, Harry whispered in her ear. "Everything alright?"

At her jerky nod, Harry continued in French, "did anyone see?"

"No," the word rushed out squeakily.

Harry smiled at her, ruffling her hair briefly. "Good. Don't fret, we will sort this out, little dove."

Olivia seemed to be watching them closely, mouth hanging open at their use of another language, or so Harry assumed.

"We ask that you take your children home for the rest of the day," Ms. McKinney stated, "give them a stern talking to about proper conduct while at school."

"Yes, ma'am," Harry replied.

Olivia voiced her agreement, seeming subdued.

"You may go," the headmistress said, dismissing them.

Olivia and her son quickly got up, scurrying to leave. As Harry stood with his daughter, Ms. McKinney cleared her throat. He turned to look at her.

"Mr. Evans, I want you to know that if it wasn't for the ripped bag, Lili would not be punished for her behavior today."

Harry nodded. "I appreciate that," he replied, understanding what she was communicating to him.

"Come along, Lili," he said, holding out his hand.

Upon exiting the room, and leading his daughter past the receptionist, Harry breathed out a sigh of relief.

Only to inhale it back. Olivia stood next to her car, keys jangling in her hands. Her son already in the backseat. She moved toward him, Harry subconsciously positioning himself in front of Lili.

"Terribly sorry about the nastiness in there," Olivia said, brushing an errant lock of hair behind her ear. "I'm sure it was a misunderstanding."

Harry made a noncommittal grunt.

The young mother paused briefly, a slight wariness entering her tone as she continued, "schools sometimes make a fuss over kids being kids, you know?"

Harry blinked and Olivia's face returned to its pleasant roundness, rather than the horse-like image that had briefly been superimposed upon it.

Harry shook his head. "I'm sure," he acquiesced with some difficulty. His stomach knotting in a strange fashion.

Olivia looked at him askance, "I heard you and the missus dined out Friday, did you enjoy San Rufo's?"

Harry's eyes widened, his brow raising in question, at the odd change of topic. Seeing his apprehensive expression, Olivia's voice rushed out, "the town talks you know." She let out a nervous laugh. "It was the first time anyone had seen Mrs. Evans out and about besides the start of term, is all."

Harry nodded slowly, feeling uncomfortable. He peeked down at Lili who was watching the conversation quietly behind his legs. She seemed similarly uncertain.

Placing his hand reassuring on her head, Harry attempted a game smile at Olivia. "We liked it just fine, and the pier was lovely as well."

Highlighted blonde curls bounced as the young woman nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, I've always enjoyed the pier too. Water is good for the soul, they say."

A silence filled the lull in the conversation. Harry scratched the stubble along his chin, wondering not for the first time what the cause of this conversation was.

Deciding to extend an olive beach in an attempt to figure out the woman's motives, Harry spoke, "do you have any other places you enjoy in Skegness? Places I can take the family?"

Olivia seemed to dim a bit as Harry finished his sentence. His confusion deepened as she rattled off a few places mechanically.

Harry thanked her and she nodded in acknowledgement before glancing back at her car. Her son stared at them through the window.

"I should go," she trailed off tentatively.

"Yes, we should be off too."

"I hope we can meet under superior terms next time."

"That would be…nice," Harry said, for lack of a better thing to say.

Tossing one last bright smile at him, a mask that Harry now recognized, she turned on her heel and made her way to her car.

"You have any idea what that was about Lili?" Harry asked, watching the little family drive away.

"No," came her small reply.

Harry sighed, "that makes two of us then."

The confusion Harry had felt while talking to Olivia departed with her. The restless energy that had churned within him since picking up the phone coming back with a vengeance. He gulped, knowing what he had to do next.

Harry looked around, making sure no one else was watching before he pulled Lili to the side of Hogsthrope's entrance, out of sight of the offices and windows.

There had been a few times where Harry had felt this way, a nearly instinctual certainty that the following moments would be defining for both him as a parent and Lili as a person. Pushing away the asphyxiating anxiety and wishing Fleur was here to help, he settled himself.

Harry crouched down, his hands dwarfing Lili's tiny shoulders. His own emerald eyes reflected back at him. "I need you to listen and answer carefully, sweetie, can you do that?" Her silver head nervously bobbed in acceptance.

"Elijah was making fun of Jasmine, wasn't he?"

Lili shuffled her feet, looking downwards. Harry's guess bearing fruit.

"Why was he making fun of her?" Harry said, voice tight.

"He called her a name, I don't know what it meant but… she didn't like it," Lili replied in a dispirited voice.

"And?"

"When she didn't speak he started talking about her grandmother's 'funny' clothes."

Harry sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Kids being kids indeed, he thought venomously.

"So you told him to stop?"

A shaky nod of platinum hair.

"But he didn't, did he?"

"No," was her quiet response, her voice sad.

"So you got angry and accidentally made his bag rip," Harry questioned, trying to keep the anger he felt out of his voice, knowing Lili would misinterpret it.

"I'm sorry papa," she cried. Harry's chest collapsed as he realized Lili thought she was in trouble.

Harry raised his daughter's trembling chin, wiping the tears from her eyes with the pads of his thumbs. "None of that, moonbeam. No tears today," he consoled gently.

"Now what I'm going to say next is very important, are you ready?"

Lili gave a watery smile while bobbing her head. Her tiny hands reaching up to hastily dry the wet trails left upon her cheeks.

Harry looked at his daughter and she at him. He tested the words in his head, rolling them about his tongue until they clicked against his teeth in their eagerness to get out.

Harry swallowed, breathed. "A good woman who does nothing, is not a good woman at all," his tone even, sober, unwavering. He paused, watching his oldest repeat the words in her head. "Do you understand?"

A crease appeared between the cupid's bow of her brow, face scrunched in total concentration. "I think so, papa," she said.

Harry smiled at his daughter, trying her hardest to hear the lesson he was doing his best to impart. "Did any other kid say something when Jasmine was being bullied?"

"No," was her slow reply, "I don't think so." Harry could see the mind whirling behind her eyes.

"But there were other kids around right, watching?"

"Yes."

Harry nodded, "do you think they are bad kids?"

Lili shook her head, sending her braid wagging behind her. "No, some of them are really nice."

"But they didn't stand up for Jasmine or you, did they," Harry asked gently.

A brief frown ran across Lili's face before fading into a contemplative look. "They didn't," she stated resolutely. He watched as understanding dawned across her lovely face.

"There are a lot of nice people in the world, Lili, but precious few are truly good. We are all defined by the choices we make. Our actions and inaction. You did a brave thing today, speaking out for your friend."

Harry breathed out, squeezing Lili's shoulders before he continued, "And I am so terribly proud of you for it."

His daughter crushed herself to his chest, little arms weaving around his neck. He raised a hand to cup the back of her head against his shoulder as his other patted her back.

"I understand daddy, thank you," she whispered in his ear. Harry smiled, turning his face slightly so he could kiss her forehead.

Raising children was hard, raising them well harder still. It was a difficult thing to gauge, if you were doing right by them. Teaching them not only what they needed to live but how to live well and decently. Moments like this, where their budding character blossomed into something praiseworthy, was the only assurance Harry had that he was giving his daughters what he'd never had.

Standing, Harry held out his hand for Lili to take. He was relieved to see her smile had returned, a childish pride replacing her worry.

"Let's go home, chicklet," he said as her petite, fragile hand grasped his fingers.

They walked slowly, father and daughter humming a tune to a song no Muggle around them would know.


	3. Interlude: Love, One Size Fits All

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hello, thank you for reading my story. Please see my profile for information regarding canon compliance and a general timeline of my interconnected stories. While they are not necessary to read, my short stories add flavor and context.
> 
> Thank you to my beta readers, Raphaël the Nameless and Emp (JuicyFruits) and everyone else that helped. Similarly, thank you to the Harry/Fleur discord for being such a lovely, supportive community.
> 
> I own none of the rights, nor make money, nor gain fame, or anything else from Harry Potter.
> 
> Cheers.

**Two Years Ago**

Fleur watched her younger sister from across the room, sitting on a pale yellow loveseat while the younger Veela anxiously twisted her fingers together. The girl's gaze was intense and focused, barely blinking as she watched her goddaughter, all of two, rambunctiously clamber about a hulking man sitting on the floor of the gathering room.

Fayette's onesie-covered foot slipped on her current trek up Hagrid's arm, barely sliding down before a massive hand caught her by her pale blue-clothed bottom. Without missing a beat, the intrepid girl began her quest once more. Her aunt, however, had lurched forward, hands outstretched in fear before slowly returning to her seat when the perceived danger had passed.

Shaking her head, the young Mrs. Potter began making her way over to Gabrielle. Sitting primly next to her sister, who didn't even glance at her in acknowledgement - gaze still fixed on her niece - Fleur sniffed audibly. Not even a twitch in her direction. Feeling amused, and a tad miffed, the platinum-haired Veela nestled close to her golden-haired relative, making sure to jostle her exaggeratedly.

"Stop it," came the waspish reply, complimented by a sharp elbow to Fleur's ribs.

Rubbing her side ruefully, the older woman decided to just speak instead of endeavoring for the younger girl's full attention. "Honestly, I don't think there is a person on earth that Harry would trust with his children more than Hagrid."

This, it seemed, was enough to grab Gabrielle's attention. She turned, her face showcasing a rather fetching but deeply incredulous expression.

With a smile, Fleur continued speaking, "not many people know this... but Hagrid is the one that took Harry from Godric's Hollow." She paused, watching the statement sink in to her listener. "Carried him to safety even when Harry's godfather, Sirius, left him behind."

"I’ve never heard about that."

"Mhm."

A companionable silence fell, both women watching the two people, one large and the other small, play together on the living room rug next to the hearth. The women watched for different reasons, but Fleur hoped she could change that, however slightly.

She glanced again at her sister, gauging how best to say what she wanted to impart. Deciding on being direct, she began speaking again, "He was also the one to take Harry away from his horrible muggle relatives when he turned eleven; even gave him the first birthday cake he can remember."

Fleur gazed fondly at the hulking man sitting completely still as Fayette climbed all over him. She watched as he handled her youngest daughter like porcelain, movements calm, slow, adoring. Fleur smiled at the look of utter, complete concentration on the man's face, his bushy eyebrows scrunched together. His serious expression made her laugh lightly.

"He was there for 'Arry through it all. Staunchly loyal, dependable… His friendship saved my husband in more ways than one. Hagrid is different, yes, but a better man would be hard to find."

Gabrielle nodded, watching the half-giant's careful playing, seemingly with a new eye. Her fingers were clenched together naturally, rather than the nervous knots they'd been contorted into.

Fleur hoped her sister would be able to see what she did, a gentle giant in the truest sense of the phrase. A man who loved the wayward creatures of the world when no one else did. A man that understood, in his own simple and gentle way what it was to be different but unabashed. A concept she knew her sister was struggling with, a fashion designer unable to model her own clothes due to regulations against 'creatures with supernaturally-enhanced beauty.'

She wasn't disappointed. 

"I'm ashamed," the younger Veela whispered finally, "I judged him… before I understood him. I'm no better than the wizards who do the same to us."

Fleur shook her head. "No," she said resolutely. "It is understandably shocking, seeing such a large man next to such a tiny chicklet, especially one with wild hair and covered in furs. But you need only look to see the truth of him. Look now, see how deliberate his movements are and how tender his touches; my daughter is in the safest of hands."

There was a brief pause as the two sisters watched the newest Potter traverse the wide expanse of the haggard mountain range before her. She was going to be trouble, Fleur thought fondly. The little witchling had inherited her father's fearless, adventurous spirit.

The young girl made it atop the peak of the mountain, peeping in bemusement over Hagrid's head, even as his huge hands hovered closely next to her body, ready to catch her should she fall. A victorious babble of gibberish erupted from the babe's mouth, as though she were staking claim to the grandest of summits. With a great bellowing laugh, the older man shook, causing Fayette to bounce about slightly, which caused her own hysterical laughter to bubble up into the air.

"Well, I can at least help him learn to bake," Gabrielle said, her voice suddenly professional and clipped, the emotion of the last few minutes fading away.

Fleur chuckled loudly, the joyous sound mixing with that of her family before her. She looked at the hilariously gargantuan cake on the coffee table near them. The pink icing was clumsily splattered around it, crude letters etched in shaky penmanship happily proclaiming 'Happee Birthdae.'

"'Arry, and I would greatly appreciate that." She leaned in conspiratorially, "you know, Hagrid still sends a cake every year for 'Arry's birthday?" Her sister glanced at her in shock to which she nodded knowingly, "Hasn't missed a single one. They aren't great but… not a crumb is ever left behind."

At this, the young mother glanced towards her husband, lounging against the opposite wall of the living room, his eyes alight with pleasure as he chatted to Hermione and Luna. His black hair was mussed, his posture relaxed and unguarded. He was happy. A birdlike flutter moved in her breast, a serene smile stealing across her face.

She observed Neville and Ron walking towards the group with drinks in their hands. They were met with welcome mirth, the group seamlessly expanding to involve the newcomers.

All around the Potter household were friends and family, mingling and joking and smiling together. Children tumbled about the room, filling the home with a lively air. Fred and Molly were chasing one another while shrieking; Audrey and George, meanwhile, were taking bets on whose spawn would break something first. Lili was showing her cousin Rose the new violin Uncle Charlie had carved and strung for her, even if she couldn't play it yet. Fleur's father and mother were grinning while they chatted with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, the red-headed matron practically glowing as she held the swaddled form of Roxanne Weasley, the newest of the brood.

A young boy with bright, turquoise hair ran from an aristocratic, older woman to bury his head against Fleur's stomach, his spindly arms wrapping about her waist in greeting. Her fingers trailed through his locks as they shifted from blue to black to silver.

Work friends, D.A. members, and former teachers all congregated about the house, mixing and mingling as old acquaintances were found and new friendships were born.

To all this, the birthday girl paid no notice. Indeed, she was completely oblivious to the noise and movement around her. The fuss of her second birthday was unimportant and disregarded as she single-mindedly played with her godfather.


	4. Growing Pains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hello, thank you for reading my story. Please see my profile for information regarding canon compliance and a general timeline of my interconnected stories. While they are not necessary to read, my short stories add flavour and context.
> 
> Many thanks to Ajax, Raphaël the Older Nameless, and LTCMDR Michal Drápalík for their efforts in beta-ing. Their input is invaluable. Ajax is the famous (in his mind) author of "A Different Kind of War" and Michal is the author behind the fanfiction handle 'Honorversefan' and writes particularly lovely stories. I suggest reading both of them. Without them, my story would have many independent clauses that need connecting and would be full of 'Americanisms.'
> 
> I own none of the rights, nor make money, nor gain fame, or anything else from Harry Potter.
> 
> Cheers.

An ear-splitting noise rang out, causing Harry to clutch the side of his head. Somewhere between an owl hooting and a fire alarm, he looked around in confusion, only to rocket to his feet when he noticed Fayette seemed oblivious to the sound. Realisation froze the air trapped in his lungs, becoming a block of ice burdening the increasingly rapid rise and fall of his chest. The room shrunk into black nothingness except for the youngest Potter casually playing with her toys on the floor.

The school wards.

The thought rang distantly like a bell tolling in an abandoned town.

Electric energy pulsed along nerves atrophied by dread while muscles tightened painfully with tension around bones that felt too heavy and burdensome for the speed Harry needed.

Hesitation evaporating, he shot out a Patronus, his stag laden with a message for Ron, knowing his friend would drop whatever he was doing to come look after Fayette immediately.

"Stay right there," Harry barked, wincing when he saw his little girl burst into tears at his sharp tone.

"Sorry, sorry," he repented with a softer voice, even as his eyes darted towards the fireplace and sweat broke out along his skin. "You aren't in trouble, dewdrop, I just need to go now. Uncle Ron will be here soon, ok? Be a good girl." His words left him in a rush as he bolted out the front door.

The day was bright, not a cloud in the sky. Warm sunlight battled the cool chill of the September air. Harry noticed none of it, sprinting towards the edge of the wards where he promptly, tightly spun, apparating to an alleyway just outside of Hogsthorpe Academy.

Before he had fully come to rest from his twisted pop back into existence, Harry was once again darting forward. Thoughts of a war long past bleeding into his vision. The worn brick of the alley shifting to the old stones of Hogwarts's Great Hall lined with bodies. The sound of cars and the distant noise of a busy dock melting into spellfire and screams.

Skidding around the corner, he whipped out his wand, twirling it about his head to stop the wards ringing in his ears before forcing them to show where they'd been breached.

He careened past the school's side, casting a disillusionment charm on himself as he stampeded towards the back where the wards showed a non-keyed-in magical signature.

His feet stopped, his legs trembled with strained exertion, heart hammering away in his chest while ragged breaths came in gasps. A frenzied madness roared in his ears, a fury split through the ice of his chest as Harry's face turned ugly with hate; terror morphing into rancour.

A man dressed in a shabby overcoat stood stooped behind the corner of a building across from Hogsthrope. A tweed cap rested upon straw-coloured hair, a camera raised in his hands.

White light swooped across the ground between the two men, smashing the camera into pieces before colliding into the reporter's chest. Harry snarled in satisfaction, striding over to the prone body that had fallen heavily to the cement below.

Frightened eyes goggled up at him as he crouched down and tore through the man's jacket pockets, finding Daily Prophet credentials, which were looked at briefly before being stuffed in the back pocket of Harry's jeans.

Not finding anything else aside from the man's wand and a few pieces of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, Harry cast a Reparifors spell, taking away the effects of the man's paralysis.

Keeping his wand pointed at the cowering reporter, he spoke, his voice a dangerous drawl. "Mr O'Dell, mind telling me what you're doing here?"

Mr O'Dell's hand snagged the beaten cap off his head, drawing it to his chest as he continued to lay there, staring at Harry. A mouth opened but no sound escaped.

A wand tip pressed against an Adam's Apple prompted a stammered declaration, "Assignment. Didn't want to. Job. Sorry!"

Harry leaned over, his green eyes sparking like flint and stone. "What's the story, Mr O'Dell? Got a particular scoop in mind?"

"I-I'm not sure, just the photographer. A-a-article gets written by some-somebody else." The hitched speech and evident terror was making Harry sick to his stomach, even as the beast in his chest roared in savage satisfaction.

"Who else knows about the school's location," he asked, his sharp voice losing some of its tempered edge.

"Just the boss, he didn't want to lose the exclusive." As soon as the words left the reporter's mouth he seemed to realise they were the wrong ones to use.

"The lives of my daughters are not your exclusives," Harry growled, his anger returning, dark and vicious. A jet of red made Mr O'Dell slump unconscious.

Sitting back on his haunches, he scrubbed at his face. The faded lightning bolt scar stretched across his forehead as the skin of his scalp was pulled back by the fingers raking through tangled black hair. Fortifying himself, he made the decision necessary to keep his family safe.

Using a horribly invasive memory charm, taught and regulated tightly by the Auror department, Harry wiped every trace of Liliana's location from the man's mind. The spell went several steps further than a simple obliviation and wasn't civilian authorised, not that those potential repercussions meant much to its current user.

Regardless, the memory erasure left a bad taste in his mouth. He pulled up the reporter roughly, walking a few steps over till he was outside the embedded school wards. A wave of his wand banished the remnants of the magical camera before he twisted on the spot with his burden.

With a slight stumble due to the extra weight, he arrived outside the Hog's Head Inn, where he unceremoniously dumped the prone body from his shoulders. Mr O'Dell clattered to the ground in a heap while his cap gusted down the sidewalk, carried by an errant wind.

Cracking his neck and cheerfully waving at Madam Rosemerta - who had stopped across the street at his arrival - Harry checked the enchanted watch secured around his left wrist. The green hand signifying Lili pointed squarely at 'school.' Clicking one of the knobs inward caused all five differently coloured hands to spin before resting together at 'safe.'

With a nearly silent pop, Harry disappeared from the streets of the small wizarding village, a sigh of relief hanging upon the still air behind him.

XXXXXXXX

Ron was wearing makeup when Harry walked into his front door, the gangly man looking up in alarm while Fayette skipped gaily towards her father. Both males stood silently, appraising one another for a beat.

The red-head sat on the floor, painfully folded so he could squeeze behind the child's harpsichord before him. A single tuft of red hair had received a braid, sitting atop his head before sagging under its own weight like a drooping unicorn horn.

Harry snorted.

"Ok, daddy?" His little girl asked, patting his knee as he bent to snuggle her close.

"Everything is just fine, dewdrop," he uttered as he buried his head in gold curls. The smell of wisteria trees and thunderstorms permeating his senses. Her tiny form allowed the thumping pulse of his veins to slow, even as she shifted uncomfortably in his slightly-too restrictive grip. He loosened his hold minutely and she stilled.

Small, chubby hands cupped his cheeks before his daughter leaned forward and pecked him lightly on the nose. "I make it better," she said seriously.

"Yes, chicklet," Harry replied, his throat working strangely, "you always do."

Fayette gave a stern nod before peeking back at her playmate. She placed her cheek alongside his own so she could whisper conspiratorially to him. "I made Uncle Ron silly," came her quiet voice before snorting prettily, just like her mother.

"I noticed," was his dry reply. He glanced up at his best mate, still awkwardly squished next to Fayette's instrument.

"Did she ask to play dress-up?" Harry called out.

Ron scowled, "You too?"

"Yup."

"I thought she was serious until she started guffawing while drawing stars on my cheeks with mascara."

He appraised his friend solemnly, "They really bring out your eyes."

A sour look was sent his way in return. "If it makes you feel better," he continued lightly, "so far she's tricked Hagrid, Teddy, and Bill." A particularly funny memory of walking in on a certain half-giant wearing a tutu with his beard heavily clumped together by hair ties caused lips to twitch. The normalcy was soothing to the headache that had formed from the adrenaline draining out of his body.

Ron shook his head, "I should have known as soon as the little imp asked, she's as mischievous as Fred… and probably even less interested in girly stuff."

A grin hitched on the black-haired man's face as he lifted his daughter into his arms. A big yawn overtaking her face, undoubtedly tired after missing her afternoon nap in all the excitement of a visitor. "Much to her mother's disconcertment."

"Your wife spends an awful lot of time getting Fay all dolled up only to be rewarded with grass stains and rips," was the idly given reply. The speaker's face, however, showed an anxious energy.

Harry walked over to the couch directly facing the fireplace, gently swaying the drowsy chicklet in his arms. Downy feathers and weary exhales signalled a consciousness fleeing into slumber. Bending down slowly, he placed his child gently on her usual afternoon snoozing spot. Warm rays of light from outside caressing her sweet face. An irritable mumble at his jostling was soon forgotten as Fayette slipped deeper asleep.

Motioning to the kitchen, Harry and Ron crept quietly towards the doorway. Unfortunately, Ron's large feet proved his undoing as an ungainly step landed his weight upon a child's toy. It was a cute thing, really. An ever-spinning top that played music and shone lighted pictures of dancing ponies as it rotated.

"Bugg-" was all the unfortunate man was able to utter before a silencing spell cut him off. An annoyed grumble was heard behind them along with the whoosh and brief illumination from blue fire before languid snoring began again.

Nursing his sore foot, Ron hopped his way towards the entrance to the kitchen, putting his newfound ability to use inventive curses with impunity to good effect.

Casting a muffliato spell upon the kitchen, Harry undid the muting of his friend.

"And I'll find whoever had the audacity to make you and curse all their biscuits to break, their tea to be forever tepid, and their shop to always smell of cabbage."

Biting his lip to stop his laughter at the explosion of venomous threats, Harry waved his wand to begin the process of magically making tea.

Looking over at his friend who jumped up slightly to sit on the edge of a counter, he grinned before speaking. "You gonna make it, tough guy? Or are we headed to St. Mungos for an amputation?"

The freckled man glared, his voice murderous, "if my foot didn't hurt so bloody much you'd find it kicking your arse."

"Touchy, touchy," Harry sang mockingly.

Sighing, Ron straightened, his foot dropping to brush against the floor. Swinging his legs somewhat childishly, the man's expression turned contemplative. "What happened, mate? Your message nearly had me sending for the Aurors."

The kettle rang out shrilly, cutting off the biting response forming on Harry's tongue. Waving his wand absently, cups began to prance jauntily towards the levitating teapot ready to pour. "A ruddy journalist was at Lili's school, looking to snap a photo," he bit out scathingly.

A harshly solid thump caused him to turn around, his friend was rubbing his knuckles after smashing them against the counter in frustration, ruminations on the reporter's lineage involving barnyard animals pouring from his mouth.

Ron looked up, "What did you do," his voice as stony as his face.

Harry was glad, not for the first time, to witness such fierce protectiveness towards a goddaughter. His best mate had long since shed any insecurity or want of fame. The end of the war had shown how truly miserable being in the limelight was. But having the masses speculate and gossip about Ron's goddaughter and then his own children had completely murdered whatever predilection the Weasley still held towards being notable and newsworthy.

"Memory wipe." There was no hesitation in his reply, trust a foregone conclusion.

A jerky nod of approval was the only response. The two men sipped their tea silently.

Finally, Ron looked up and asked the question that had been on both their minds during their quiet ruminations. "Do you know how they found her location?"

Harry sighed. "No, I don't. The arsehole didn't know either. Said his boss was the only one that knew. Hopefully, I'll be able to find out after I have my solicitor talk to him."

"Did you stop the article?"

"I got the photographer and smashed his camera, should stall the printing, give me time to get an injunction before the court." Harry looked about for a pen, "matter of fact, I should send a letter to-"

Pecking at the window drew Harry's gaze, Ron going silent at the sight of Percy's owl. A long rolled-up parchment clutched in one of its talons.

"That's odd, it looks like… but it's too early for the Evening Prophet," the red-head mused.

Opening the window by hand, the bird hopped inside. The chocolate-coloured owl let out a domineering hoot before dropping its burden, puffing plumaged chest out in fulfilment.

"Bloody hell," Ron pronounced, "it's as big of a ponce as Percy is."

Harry's mouth stayed in a hard line as he unfurled the paper. The parchment crumpling in his hands upon seeing the title of the special edition printing.

XXXXXXXX

The door to Barnabas Cuffe's office banged open and, with a hateful swipe of Harry's wand, slammed shut as silencing wards settled over the cluttered room.

The older man sat behind a small desk stacked high with messy papers. Outlines and messages dripped from every available surface. Food crumbs and a slew of dirty plates littered the few available surfaces in-between the towering heaps of parchment. Barnabas Cuffe, editor-in-chief of the Daily Prophet, quivered under Harry's baleful glare.

One quick stride brought Harry to the man's desk. Ignoring the rickety chair beside him, he slammed the special edition of the Daily Prophet down, causing stacks of precariously placed parchment to pour onto the ground.

"You've had your fun printing whatever small-minded, hateful bigotry you wished about my wife and me." Harry paused, veins throbbing, blood roaring. "But if you ever print something about my daughter again I will make sure they are the last words you or anyone that works for you in this garbage heap ever gets published again."

Barnabas attempted indignation, but his shaky voice undermined him. "Mr. Potter, we are simply reporting the events…" the man trailed off as sparks of vivid red shot out of Harry's still drawn wand, reacting to his spike in blood pressure.

Trying to form some semblance of pride and indignation, the newspaper editor drew himself up, "listen here, you can't threaten me. We've a right as a private business to-."

"Shut up." Harry's voice was cold. He leaned over the desk dangerously, his eyes cutting. "I've already petitioned the third court of the Wizengamot for an injunction. I expect it'll be granted due to you slandering a child seven years of age and calling her a dark creature. Especially, considering how the new Doctrine of Equality for Sentient Magical Beings just recently passed."

He stood to his full height, looking down in disgust at the seated man before his face turned contemplative. "Although, you may have a point about this being a private business…" Harry trailed off. His malicious smile ending Barnbas's short-lived hopeful expression. "If memory serves me correctly, the Daily Prophet went public after the previous owner died two years ago. Perhaps I should see the goblins about purchasing some stock."

Harry moved to the door and, turning with a look of distaste at the disastrous office, said, "I'd go ahead and start cleaning up." With a sharp twist of the doorknob, he strolled out, studiously avoiding eye contact with the staff he passed.

XXXXXXXX

The bedroom door opened tentatively, hallway lamps spilling a muted orange light into the dark room. The swift click of a knob turning terminated the lumination. A strange harmony of sound filled the night. A soft rustle of fabric, the smooth unzipping of a skirt, and the dull thumps of shifting weight.

Familiar noise, welcome and necessary. A lifeline of normality in a downward spiral of vexation. Until a voice intruded, "I've put the girls to bed."

Covers on the bed moved slightly in response, the quiet of the night lengthened, deepened. But the thread had snapped, comforting regularity consumed by the intrusion of reality.

A husky sigh floated about the room. "'Arry, talk to me."

The lump of covers on the bed continued to ignore the voice, finding an ill-natured gratification in doing so - even as embarrassment buzzed faintly at the immaturity of the act.

Suddenly, the covers of the bed were ripped away while blue light suddenly irradiated the room, forcing the night to become mere shadows upon the walls.

Fleur struck an imposing figure; her hip cocked to the side, a large glob of cerulean flame lazily flickering in one hand with a brow arched dangerously high.

The lump, revealed to be Harry Potter, stared up at his wife. The flames didn't bother him, not really. Neither did the feathers upon her arm, however, the sharp beak was another matter. That typically meant trouble.

Rolling about, he sat up. Leaning his back against the headboard and pulling his knees to his chest, clasping callused hands together around long legs. But still, he refused to meet the gaze of the Veela beside him, shame coursing like blood in his veins. He knew she needed him to speak, he couldn't put it off any longer. She'd given him space to be withdrawn and sullen all evening while she took care of the house and children, but now he'd have to face her.

"I failed," the admission stung him as it left his lips.

The fire blinked fitfully in surprise, stuttering out and throwing the room into darkness once more, lit only by the moonlight shining through windows. It did not relight. The bed dipped as a new occupant crawled atop it and then shifted as Fleur shuffled her way next to him.

"What do you mean, you failed," confusion evident in the tone of voice.

Harry glanced at the woman next to him, heartened to see the beak formed from anger had dissipated. "I was complacent, stupid, thinking that stopping the photographer at the school would delay the article. I should have immediately gone to petition for an injunction." Bitterness coloured the self-flaggrating tone like poison coating a knife. "Now Lili is in the papers, being called a violent creature for the whole world to see. She'll go to school with classmates whose parents will show them that article, she'll be-"

"Fine," Fleur murmured, cutting off her husband from the lather he was working himself into. "We've talked about this before, my heart, she will be surrounded by the Weasleys, and our bright, wonderful girls will have no trouble making friends. Those that judge before knowing her were not worth her time to begin with."

Such reasoning did nothing to curtail the erupting fury and hollow sense of ineptitude that stormed inside his chest. "It changes nothing, these bloody vultures printing such hateful shite about a child." His voice raised with indignation, "she didn't even feather! It had nothing to do with her heritage and everything to do with normal, accidental magic that every witch or wizard has."

"No, it doesn't change anything. It is a sadness inherent to the scrutinised life of all those labelled 'creature' and 'half-breed' by magical society." The Veela seemed to consider her next words carefully. "A scrutiny that you understand better than most, I know."A pale arm wrapped about Harry's shoulders, a head leaning against the top of his own. "Besides, we always knew the Potter girls would be newsworthy, no matter what."

The comforting weight of his love did little to wash away the terrible mood trembling within his very bones. "We had done a remarkable job of it so far, " came his gravelly rebuke.

The head atop his own nodded, "yes, we did." A pause. "By living like hermits."

Harry jolted, moving away so he could turn and see his wife's eyes. "Are you disappointed with our life," his wounded voice sharper than intended from frantic energy.

"No, let me finish," Fleur said quickly. "I am not chastising you 'Arry, far from it. We both prefer the company of friends and family to that of strangers and sycophants. But even you must agree that our girls have stayed out of the papers because we as a family live an insular life. They never go shopping with us in Diagon Alley, we don't take them to eat in non-muggle restaurants, nothing is known of them but their names to the wider magical society."

"And that is how I like it," Harry growled.

Fleur rebuffed him with a stare, and he fell silent. "The point I'm making, you thick-headed rooster, is that this article was bound to happen. Whether now, or in Hogwarts, a small act on her part was inevitably going to be pounced upon by the newspapers. A single visible feather would get her called a creature, a spark of flame would mark her a monster, and the name Potter would ensure it would be overblown."

"I shouldn't have let you talk me into staying in England after the war, we'd be less interesting elsewhere, like France," he said mutinously.

His wife shook her head slowly. Her voice was fond if a bit exasperated, "it would be the same everywhere. You're the only one who doesn't realize that, Harry. Besides," her tone became firm, "Beauxbatons will not have her family there nor will it be populated by teachers who will love and guide her like Hagrid and McGonagall."

Sufficiently cowed, he considered his reply. Eventually, he opted for amusement, hoping to derail an argument before it could start. "You slipped up, dearest, the 'h' is supposed to be silent." A long, running joke brought to life again, that Fleur was _seemingly_ incapable of pronouncing the first letter of her husband's name.

A scoff and a swat was given, the room becoming quiet once more.

Curiosity eventually took over, and the raven-headed man looked askance at his wife who had taken up residence against his side before speaking, "what do you mean, it wouldn't have made a difference?"

Dark blue eyes glanced up at him, brief confusion dissipating only to be replaced with a bemused expression. "Why do you think Hermione wants your name attached to the ICW proposal, mon cœur? It is not only England that is ravenous to meet the famed 'Arry Potter." The exaggerated emphasis on the missing letter in his name caused a rakish grin to split across his face, but upon consideration of her words a frown replaced it.

"Why do I have a feeling this ICW thing will be far more complicated than Hermione led me to believe."

"It's a good thing that I've already asked papa and maman to be there then. They will guide you to shallow waters and away from the sharks."

"You did?" Harry exclaimed with surprise and delight. "That's a huge relief, honestly." He squeezed her form tighter to his side. "Thank you, it will be good to see your parents."

"It has been too long since we've seen family. Mrs Weasley changed the Sunday brunch this month to Saturday so we could attend."

Harry nodded, "that is kind of her. We can leave the girls with Mrs Weasley then, before we have to leave Sunday for the conference."

"Mhm, Angelina and Audrey said they would swing by throughout the week to help out where they could. Ginny will be busy with her season but offered to check in on her off day."

A tender caress traced Harry's cheek and along the beaming curve of his lips. "Always so surprised," the sweet, feminine voice said.

He looked at the ceiling, his heart beating calmly. His earlier molten ire had cooled to igneous rock. Family, support… love. How long he had gone thinking none of it would ever be his. How fortunate he was to have gained so, so much of all three.

The golden warmth of realisation had faded in the long silence that had stretched between husband and wife when Fleur finally broke it.

"'Arry, we need to talk about what to do with Lili and school now. I think we should transfer her."

He stilled, "but Jasmine… she just made a friend. You're the one who told me how important that was."

"Yes." Fleur paused, obviously struggling to choose her words carefully. "But her location is known to the reporters. What if they continue to hound her or worse make the information known to others?"

"I erased the photographer's memory, and he said the only one who knew was Barnabus, who I'm working on getting sacked. Every Prophet employee is required to take the Glawackus Compound upon terminating their contract, forcing memory loss of all dealings with informants or private information. After that, no one will know."

"Do you really think that will be enough?"

"I don't want to take Lili away from her first friend, Fleur, not if we can help it. It would crush her."

His wife settled against his side, the night's quiet returning. He felt her heart beating in tandem to his own, but the steady pulse was a stark contrast to his racing thoughts. He still wasn't sure just how Lili had been found by the reporter and how they knew about her bout of accidental magic since the trace only applied to children with wands. He expected that mystery would keep him up long into the night.

XXXXXXXX

As soon as the Potters arrived outside of the Burrow's wards, food and children clutched tightly in their hands, a booming voice called out from the edge of the garden, shouting Harry's name. The subject of the shout looked towards its giver. A gargantuan man, tall of stature and broad of shoulder stomped towards them gaily. His colossal smile visible even through the tangled forest of his busy, brown beard.

A shriek of delight pierced the otherwise quiet morning as a feathering chiclet ran as rapidly and steadily as her little legs would allow before taking a running leap into the air. The flight was short-lived as a massive hand caught the chirping Fayette tenderly. "Well, if'n it isn't my little bird," came the adoring bellow.

The large man chuckled as his goddaughter began climbing his mane of hair so she could sit atop his head. Her tiny fists buried in his thick locks, her favourite perch, even if it gave her mother serious nerves. Harry cast a low-powered levitation charm on the tittering chicklet, the same one used to enchant quaffles so they wouldn't fall below a certain height.

Soft pops behind him caused Harry to turn, only to raise a hand in greeting at Bill and his families arrival. The oldest Weasley son had ended up meeting Fleur's school friend, Natalie, at the Potter wedding and had only waited a year before asking for her hand in marriage. Natalie had moved down to England shortly thereafter and opened her own Herbologist shop in Diagon Alley, of which, Neville and Mrs Sprout were frequent customers.

Fleur smiled at Harry, pulling Lili by the hand to go and chat with the new arrivals, subtly giving the two men time alone.

"I need ter speak ter yeh," Hagrid whispered, though his voice carried across the entire lawn.

"Sure thing," Harry said easily, leading his old friend around the back of the Burrow and out towards the open fields beyond. Along the way, godfather and goddaughter began a serious discussion on all the magical creatures Hagrid was caring for this year, along with how Teddy seemed to be doing whenever he visited the half-giant, which was often.

Upon reaching a fair distance from the Burrow, the large man came to a halt. He turned slightly so he could face Harry. Fayette, obviously sensing 'adult-time' had started went quiet, busying herself with braiding her godfather's thick locks.

"I don' know if yeh remember, but your fourth year an article came out abou' me…" Hagrid trailed off a tad uncertain, his glances showing trepidation.

"Of course I do," was Harry's reply.

Hagrid reached up to pull Fayette from his hair, placing the giggling girl in the crook of one arm while he prodded her tummy gently with a single, thick finger. She dissolved into joyful but mischievous sniggers as she batted away the ticklish digit.

Good, tha''s good... I jus wanted ter remind yeh tha'... even with everything tha' happened, I still had a great time at Hogwarts. Still do, 'smatter of fact. An', well, I know little Lili will too."

A gusty sigh was released from Harry's mouth before he looked up fondly at the man who'd been his first friend. The Groundskeeper seemed somewhat uncomfortable trying to give his clumsy but well-intentioned advice. Affection welled up like water from a spring.

"How could they not? With the best Magical Creature's professor and uncle around to teach them?" A furious blush could be seen as the huge man turned slightly to whip out a spotted handkerchief and rub his slightly watery eyes while mumbling about allergies and dust. "Just… keep the girls away from any blast-ended skrewts, will you?"

A marvellously loud sniffle was blown into the huge, pink handkerchief before a watery smile was sent Harry's way. "Think I can do tha'."

The walk back to the Burrow was filled with laughter, memories, and good-natured ribbing.

Brunches at the Weasley home were a messy, riotous affair. The ever-expanding size of the freckled family and their cohorts directly after the war meant even Mrs Weasley needed to call reinforcements for the meal's preparation, a duty she begrudgingly shared. Over the years, however, as more of her children settled down and had kiddos of their own, the brunch finally evolved for a final time into a hybrid potluck. Each family unit charged with bringing a large dish or two as their contribution.

Harry prided himself on having a knack for baked brown sugar and maple glazed bacon. A recipe he'd been heartily encouraged to bring every month for the last six years or so. Fleur had tried the first few brunches diligently after the war, but Harry had taken over all kitchen duties after a while, much to her mortified relief. He was a more experienced cook, and her nearly supernatural ability to burn anything she put on the stove or in the oven had greatly restricted their eating options.

Mrs Weasley always pulled all the women-folk into the kitchen, regardless of their cooking expertise. Even though both Fleur and Hermione were as hopeless a cook as Harry had ever seen. But he expected that, since menfolk weren't allowed in and raucous giggles could be heard behind the closed door, that meal preparation was not the focus of these kitchen meetings.

His wife had been pulled into the room by Ginny as soon as Fleur had put down her coat after entering the Burrow. She had sent a blushing smile over her shoulder at him as she followed the red-head eagerly.

Even now, as the men milled about somewhat aimlessly, watching over the kids and having small talk, their conversations were consistently interrupted by shrieks of delight or gasps of, 'no, he didn't!'

Ron, who shared Harry's enjoyment of cooking, was shooting mutinous looks at the kitchen and was muttering to himself about his butterie rowies going cold while absently colouring with his son, Hugo.

Fortunately for the men, Hagrid and Arthur usually took the 'Witches Hour,' as it had been dubbed, to take the more lively children out to frolic about the rambling property around the home. Harry could see Molly, Rose and Fred, all running away from Bill's only child, Luis in a game of impromptu tag. Fayette, who had apparently refused to leave her perch atop her godfather's head, was weaving flowers through the giant's hair. Arthur and Lili were together near the garden's edge, the Weasley patriarch never missing an opportunity to ask Lili to play him some new piece on her violin.

Across the yard and through the window, Harry could hear the rich notes of his daughter's melody lilting outside. The three ladies in his family were all gifted musicians and talented singers. Unfortunately, he seemed wholly incapable of learning himself.

His wife had offered numerous times to train him on her cello. However, the first time he drew the bow incorrectly against the bridge, causing a horrific sound reminiscent of a certain golden egg, Fleur had snatched the instrument away. Lili's love of the violin had been started by her mother, but Fayette was more of a wild card. Her interests varied considerably, and now had a small collection of instruments that she called her own. The harpsichord had stuck the longest.

Percy came up beside Harry, looking out at the children rampaging about the lawn. His daughter Lucy, all of two, was being watched by Bill sitting on the couch next to Charlie as they caught up.

The previously officious man had changed considerably over the years. His red hair was already showing signs of an early retreat, and a grey hair or two could be spotted if someone looked closely enough. However, the truest change had been to the man's personality. Ambitious edges had been softened and his rigid posture replaced with a relaxed demeanour. He was still a hard worker, but his partner Audrey had helped him realise that there was a whole life to be had outside of an office. Even if she at times had to force him kicking and screaming out of it.

The subject of Harry's musings gave him a friendly smile, his un-fashionable glasses glinting in the sunlight. "Your daughter plays beautifully," he complimented.

"She does, doesn't she?" Affection bouncing in time with the silver-haired girl's harmony. "She's always loved listening to her mother play, but she's been a little too young to take it seriously before this year."

"I've only heard Fleur play once, at your wedding. I remember it even after all these years." Harry believed him. Audrey had been delighted at Percy's embarrassed, drunken tears as the new Mrs Potter opened her heart out upon her cello under the starlight. Her white wedding dress and platinum hair had been a luminescent backdrop to the brown wood of the instrument. She had been extravagantly gorgeous, a sight to make even the moon envious, as it was made dimmer in comparison.

"She plays for every family birthday, in private after the guests go home. She is rather bashful about playing in front of people." Harry explained.

"A shame, I hope to hear it again sometime."

He looked over at his friend, "Perhaps Audrey can talk her into it, maybe for your upcoming wedding anniversary."

Percy smiled as he straightened his glasses, "that would be most lovely." The conversation lulled as the two men watched the next generation of Weasley's and Potters tumble about the yard, accompanied by the contradictorily soothing music wafting from the garden's edge.

Harry noticed the increasingly nervous ticks of his companion, deciding to wait, he stood quietly before speaking, "what's on your mind?"

The man twitched minutely before he pulled his glasses off his face and wiped the lens's studiously against his robe sleeve. An act made ridiculous by the obvious choice to forgo the normal scourgify charm. After sufficiently buying time, and with his glasses perched back on a narrow nose, Percy turned slightly before speaking, "do you know what you're getting into, going to the ICW conference?"

A brief flicker of irritation jolted before familiarity with the speaker calmed him. Harry knew the fastidious man beside well enough now to understand that his words weren't meant condescendingly, rather they were just clumsily conveyed concern. Tempering his response, he finally answered, "I've been told each member state is bringing a 'prominent leader' of their Sentient Being population. I'll attend the first week of the conference, shake some hands, play nice, and leave."

His companion grimaced, "the majority of the so-called 'leaders' you will meet will be nothing more than tokens dredged up from some regulated commune in the majority of cases." Preemptively heading off the incoming angry retort, the man continued, "don't lose sight of the bigger picture, Harry. You don't know the magical world as well as I do, especially how these places are governed. England and France may not be terribly hospitable to non-humans, but they are better in many regards to Eastern Europe and elsewhere."

There was a pause as both men stood shoulder-to-shoulder, digesting what had been said.

"What should I expect?"

Percy gave a gusty sigh, "a lot of the nonhumans you'll meet will have a script, most will have 'handlers' to make sure they give lip-service to their country. It may not seem overt but pay attention, see who is allowed to mingle alone and what delegations move in groups."

The red-head shot him a brief, intense look. "Most of all, remember that you are England's token. Make no mistake, Harry, you are the figurehead for this whole proposal regardless of what other prominent nonhuman families are present. People will want to take stock of you. Prepare to be solicited, tested, and denounced. If you falter, the whole project goes up in flames. Many countries will know that and have planned accordingly."

"Sounds like I chose to take a vacation in a viper pit," Harry tried to joke, summoning a vague smile.

Percy nodded gravely, "you did."

At that moment the Witching Hour must have concluded as an eclectic gaggle of ladies began pouring out of the kitchen in varying states of excitement. Some had obviously imbibed more than a few mimosas. Audrey and Angelina both sported a healthy flush and bright smiles. Angelina, upon spotting Percy let out a fierce snigger before tossing the man's wife a conniving smirk.

The source of the female's amusement gave a resigned sigh, "I see my hopes of Audrey's silence have been dashed." After seeing Harry's inquiring look, the man explained. "I attempted to compliment my dearly beloved by commenting on the thickness of her cauldron bottom."

The matter-of-fact delivery and dry tone caused him to nearly miss the joke entirely but the redhead's twitching lips and glinting eyes caused the meaning to snap into place. Stifling an un-manly giggle from escaping, Harry nodded seriously. "You've got a real way with words." A pause. "I take it she didn't appreciate your good humour as much as I do?"

The man shrugged, "actually she thought it was right hilarious up until the point I explained it was an honest attempt at flirting."

Harry gave an involuntary jerk, "wait, you were being serious?"

With an expulsion of breath, the man pinched the bridge of his nose, sliding the game of his glasses up in the process. "Unfortunately."

The two women sidled up to join them. Angelina immediately launching into a bout of mischievousness, "so, Perce, what's this I hear about new ministry regulations regarding cauldrons? Are you going around inspecting all of them or just the ones in your own house?"

Audrey sputtered out a laugh, "he better not be working on such a project right now."

Harry didn't stick around to hear Percy's indignant reply but he smiled as the ladies giggled behind him. He walked towards Fleur and Hermione who were embroiled in deep discussion past the kitchen doorway.

Hermione was dressed in a pair of smart grey business slacks and a lovely white blouse. He'd seen the sharp charcoal blazer she'd been wearing earlier neatly hung-up on the coat rack near the door when he'd entered. Obviously, she was already dressed for their trip.

Harry and Fleur, on the other hand, came as they typically did. Casual and comfortable. Fleur was wearing faded blue overalls with a sunshine yellow crop top underneath; a sliver of bare midriff visible through the open sides of her outfit. She never dressed so informally unless she felt secure with the surrounding company.

The two were discussing in hushed tones the upcoming trip to Ukraine; where Hermione, on behalf of the England delegation, would submit the Sentient Being International Protection Resolution for consideration of the general body.

"You really think this is good optics? Won't it just seem like you are making this proposal because you're my friend?" Fleur asked, her brow scrunched together.

"Honestly we'll take any optics that aren't what they currently are. Trust me, nepotism would be a step up considering the general outcry. People haven't forgotten that some nonhuman sentient beings sided with Voldemort."

"It isn't like all of them did," Harry interjected upon reaching the huddled group. "The Centaur herds, merpeople, and Veela had nothing to do with Voldemort, to name a few."

Hermione spared him a glance over her shoulder as she stepped aside to allow him into their confidence. "The general public doesn't care about those that didn't join. Instead, their memories are filled with the werewolves and giants that did." She appraised him. "Look, I'm not saying you're wrong, just remarking on what the current situation is. It will be hard to convince people who lost loved ones to feral werewolf packs that they aren't dangerous."

Fleur nodded before jumping in."The vast majority of Sentient Beings didn't take part in Voldemort's uprising. But in a number of states, multiple pureblood factions used it as an opportunity. Some opted to regain power by reasserting 'safety' regulations against nonhumans while others whipped up the nonhuman community into a frenzy and attempted a coup, like what happened in Venezuela and Latvia." His wife gave him a meaningful look, "Venezuela isn't even sending a delegation because civil war has broken out in the streets."

Hermione shook her head, the tight bundle of curls at the back of her head bobbing in time with her motions. "I'm not sure what all you two know but something you should be aware of is that Eastern Europe has a much different relationship with nonhumans than almost anywhere. They remember distinctly when lycanthropy first spread like a virulent disease across their borders when it originally broke out. Azerbaijan and Armenia, in particular, suffered immensely for it. They won't be your friends."

"So those will be the states who will move to block the resolution?" Harry asked.

"Undoubtedly. They've already begun making noise and spreading false information."

Fleur bit her lip before speaking. "I know I've asked this before but how will security be at the conference itself? Should we be worried about Azerbaijan or Armenia trying anything?"

Hermione shook her head, "no, we don't think they'd be so brazen. You shouldn't worry about the conference hall, each country brings their own small force of Aurors or Hitwizards. Not to mention the whole place has been enchanted and warded with nearly every spell possible."

Harry nodded, he and Fleur had already made a decision to be extra-vigilant. This would be their introduction to the world stage, which meant it would be a vulnerable moment for them in more ways than one.

"By the way, how is the bill doing in England? Any progression there?" He asked.

"Some," Hermione replied, smiling. "The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures has officially been stripped of any authorisation regarding Sentient Beings. The new task force in the Magical Law Enforcement office is being made to update education procedures regarding handling different nonhumans during investigations or incidents. Though, some of the other provisions are lagging."

"Which ones?" Fleur asked curiously.

"Well," Hermione gave a fleeting grimace, "the Wizengamot passed the provision to backpay nonhumans who've not been given employee benefits for the last twenty years but haven't voted to actually fund it. And the Department of Magical Employment and Mystic Occupation hasn't actually implemented discrimination protections yet, but soon, surely." Her voice, however, was uncertain.

Fighting against his suddenly dark mood, Harry asked a question that had been percolating inside him for years. "How did it even get this bad to begin with? So many wizards and witches don't even know facts about nonhumans, just the stereotypes."

He received a small smile from Fleur and an eye roll from Hermione who then proceeded to fondly lecture him. "Well, you lived through the Binns-era of History of Magic teaching at Hogwarts. All that covers are the wars and uprisings, doesn't even mention the reasons or causes of it."

His friend tapped a finger to her chin before continuing. "And in Defense Against the Dark Arts we learn about how to protect ourselves against 'the dark creatures.' Actually, there isn't a magical institute in Eurasia that teaches nonhuman Sentient Being courses…" She paused thoughtfully. "That would help a lot in acclimating, albeit slowly, public opinion."

"McGonagall got rid of Binns three years ago, but the Board of Governors stymied the Sentient Being courses she proposed," Fleur interjected. At Hermione's inquiring look, Fleur shrugged. "She asked me my opinion when she was formulating them."

"Got to ask her about that," the brown-haired witch muttered to herself.

"Maybe the Bill's passage will be the impetus we need to get them onboard," Harry stated, his optimistic tone at odds with the pessimism churning inside; trying to steer the conversation back on topic.

Hermione nodded readily while Fleur shifted from one foot to another.

"Speaking of the Sentient Being Bill… I know giving up the House-Elf provisions was difficult for you, Hermione." He said.

"It needed to be done," she responded resolutely. "It wasn't going to pass with it."

He knew his friend held out hope that an amendment could be made down the line to afford protections dreamt of all the way back during the founding of S.P.E.W. His own optimism, however, didn't quite extend so far as her idealism.

"The Traditionalist Faction barely let the bill pass as it was, jettisoning the House-Elf rights was the pound of flesh we had to pay." Hermione nibbled her thumb with anxious energy as she spoke. A bad habit her daughter was picking up.

"The Traditionalists," Fleur murmured thoughtfully. "They were the group spreading that ridiculous notion that the Sentient Being Act would allow Dementors to have rights, weren't they? Trying to derail public opinion?"

Hermione nodded grimly.

Fleur attempted a game smile, "the flyer showing a Dementor shopping in Diagon Alley was pretty funny though."

"Wasn't the Dementor sitting at Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour?"Harry questioned.

"That's the one. They were creative if nothing else." Hermione looked at the Potters before continuing, "regardless, we got it passed. Now we need your help to push it international. This will be different from anything you've ever done, can you handle it?"

He shrugged, "I'll do my best. You know I'm not exactly cut out for this sort of thing."

"So long as we keep him away from reporters we should be alright," Fleur added wryly.

Hermione's lips quirked weakly. "That may not be entirely possible, but I'll do my best." She schooled her face, putting on the professional mask he'd seen her use countless times while studying, taking a test, working, and saying her vows. "There are a couple things you should know before we go, to be prepared."

He nodded while lacing his fingers together with Fleur's.

"The Italian delegation is firmly on our side. Look for them if you are feeling overwhelmed during the opening ceremony. You've probably seen it in the papers, but Azerbaijan and Armenia are staunchly against the resolution. They've even talked about pulling out of the ICW entirely if it passes."

"Do you have a count yet?"

"The roughest of estimates. No one is quite sure about the Middle East; North America will vote with us but are staying out of it; Eastern Europe is the biggest roadblock; South America along with Polynesia seem largely indifferent, and Asia has some vocal protestation and support groups. Rather a toss-up with them."

"A rough estimate is right. It doesn't exactly sound hopeful."

"I imagine promises or special provisions can reel some of the less-interested parties to our side," Hermione replied.

Harry considered the deluge of information for a moment before settling on a simpler question to ask. "Why is Italy so firmly on our side? I've never heard anything about them before."

Fleur stepped in to explain, "Italy is the most liberal ministry in Europe and easily one of the top four in the world. After the first war a… reform took place that ousted the pureblood majority. They also elected the first ever 'half-breed' Minister of Magic, a part-Longana."

"Unfortunately, Carmella won't be there. Lovely woman." Hermione said wistfully. At the Potter's inquisitive looks she explained. "Ronald and I dined with her accidentally on our Honeymoon. You know, our Biblioteca Tours? Anyways, she introduced herself to us in a small cafe outside of Piazza Sant'Agostino. I've run into her a couple times for work since then."

"Right," was Harry's deadpan response.

Fleur laughed lightly. "Regardless, it sounds like our unexpected connection to the Italian Minister is for nought. We shall make do with her delegation, however."

The small group was interrupted by a herd of small children bursting through the front door in a mad scramble towards the kitchen.

"Papa! Maman! Hurry, before Uncle Hagrid and Uncle Ron eat all the food!" Lili was a streak of silver as she dashed alongside Rose, barely pausing in her delivery of the warning, while her little cousins shrieked behind them. Fayette was perched atop Hagrid's flower-festooned hair, bringing up the rear.

Harry grinned at the two women next to him. "Better eat up now, I expect politics will ruin our fancy dinner at the conference."

The Weasley/Potter parents filed in after the children to sit at the long, old table Mrs Weasley set up for the brunches. It had been in the Prewett family for generations and had the marks and scars to prove it. Harry couldn't help but love it and what it represented, the lifetimes of family passed down through generations, all eating and loving together. Idly, he wondered if any such heirlooms of his father or mother had been lost in the blaze of Godric's Hollow.

He settled in his rickety chair - held together by many sticking charms - next to his wife and daughter. Lili was fidgeting in her seat but trying to be a proper lady like her mother. She made quite the sight with her back ramrod straight and hands placed demurely on her lap even as her fingers twisted together and she glanced around the empty table. It was no secret that Lili's favourite food was her pseudo-grandmum's Sausage and Egg Casserole, a particular point of pride for Mrs Weasley. Although, Andromeda's omelettes were a close second.

The massive table quickly filled up. The family's typically sat in units but children mixed and mingled with their cousins usually towards the end of the wooden structure. Andromeda sat across from the Potters, her greying hair in a severe bun but with a shining smile on her face as she chatted amicably with Arthur. Natalie sat next to Fleur, the ladies chatting about their respective jobs while Bill laughed beside his wife at George's retelling of an experiment Ron had bollocked up earlier that week while Ron interjected vivaciously about George's inability to properly dice the ingredients being the cause. Hagrid held court with the little ones. His chair enlarged so he could sit at the end comfortably while he listened to the rambling and aimless musings of the children.

Harry noticed Fayette's hair was a multitude of tangles, no doubt from frolicking in the garden plucking flowers for Hagrid's beard and mane. He rose up and pulled a hair tie from his wrist so he could bunch her soft golden tresses in his hand and thread them through into a rough approximation of a ponytail. She beamed at him before diving back into babbling conversation with Hugo, who nodded distractedly as he watched the entryway where food would come out of.

Fleur smiled at him as he sat back down next to her. She leaned over to whisper in his ear, "still carrying those around I see. Are they mine or the girls'?"

He pecked her on the cheek before replying, "Your old ones are still in my drawer with the fancy watch Kingsley got me after leaving the Auror force."

"You wore them to work everyday; you were so smitten with me," she sang in a teasing tone, her eyes dancing.

"Still am," he replied cheekily, gripping the top of her thigh under the table.

"Did you hear about Teddy's transfiguration project, Harry?" Andromeda asked across the table, interrupting the moment with his wife.

His head snapped up, and he tried to affect a non-guilty countenance. "Uh, yes. He did. Sent me a letter with a picture of it actually. Can't believe the tyke managed to make a beetle into a button. A year ahead already!" Pride surged like warm wine through Harry, left lightheaded from his godson's accomplishment.

"His metamorphmagus abilities likely lend the correct mindset of impermanence and changeability necessary for transfiguration but I still thought it impressive." Andromeda's stilted way of speaking did little to hide the brilliant smile she had on her face while she crowed about her grandson's work.

"I always struggled with the Vanishing spells in Transfiguration." Audrey lamented. She grinned at Percy, "guess I just needed the proper motivation to get it right."

Her husband spluttered, blushing a brilliant red, before falling silent. His eyes pointed down at his food, fork picking at the half-eaten omelette.

The women around the table laughed uproariously while the menfolk looked around in bemusement.

George, however, seemed to have cottoned on because for the rest of the brunch he kept making odd comments about Percy's consistent patronage of a clothing store across from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

XXXXXXXX

"Thanks again for watching out for the girls while I'm gone, mate," Harry said to Ron as they stood side by side watching Fleur and Hermione say goodbye to their extended family.

"No problem, glad we were able to key my wand into all the wards and alarms and whatnot you have on that muggle school." The red-head glanced at him. "She'll be safe, I swear it. I've taken off work this week, figured I'd stick around Hogsthorpe to make sure reporters don't make another attempt."

"You didn't have to do that."

Ron snorted.

"Well, I appreciate it."

"You'd do the same for mine."

"I think it becomes less moving because I don't have a job to forgo."

His friend smirked, "well, that's probably true."

Arthur walked over to the two men and shook Harry's hand goodbye. "Try and have fun out there. I know it's for work and all, but it isn't every day you can visit a new country, especially as a parent."

"Will do. And thanks for letting the girls stay with you and Mrs Weasley."

Arthur waved him off. "We are beyond glad to do it. I'm quite certain Molly is going to try and teach Lili how to cook."

Harry smiled, "good luck with that. Pretty sure all the Potter girls inherited their mother's ability to burn all food to ash."

A polite cough sounded to his left, causing him to peek over at his wife who was looking at him while in conversation with Angelina. He managed a weak smile of apology which she rolled her eyes at.

Turning back to Arthur, Harry spoke, "let us know if you need anything. We'll floo call you probably every night or so when we can to talk to the girls." He actively tried to ignore the fretful anxiety in his chest. This would be the longest he or Fleur had been away from the girls in their entire lives. He couldn't help but worry.

"They'll miss you too," the man said knowingly, his warm eyes gleaming.

Fleur came to stand beside him, her hand slipping around his waist. She kissed his neck and asked if he was ready. He nodded as he beckoned his daughters over from where they were chatting to Andromeda. Lili and Fayette bounced up to them for one last snuggle and murmured instructions to be good. After they promised and backed away into Mrs Weasley's embrace, Harry felt his chest harden. He was doing this for them. Hopefully, the trip wouldn't be a waste.

Hermione gave one last kiss to the tops of her children's heads and a lingering one to her husband before she stepped beside the Potters. With an adamant nod, they touched the International Portkey before spiralling away.


	5. Life of the Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hello, thank you for reading my story. Please see my profile for information regarding canon compliance and a general timeline of my interconnected stories. While they are not necessary to read, my short stories add flavour and context.  
> Sincere gratitude must be given to LTCMDR Michal Drápalík, Luq797, Astro Hawthorne, DavidTheAthenai, WardenInTheNorth and all the other great people who gave up their time to edit my story in the Harry/Fleur discord..  
> I own none of the rights, nor make money, nor gain fame, or anything else from Harry Potter.  
> Cheers.

"The water is so blue," Fleur gushed, standing amidst old stones and an orange sky. The sun burned across the water, casting a glow against the pale architecture of Odessa. The stones that made up the city were worn but loved. Old buildings caught the embers of the setting sun, turning fiery and alive.

Orange and yellow leaves blew along the cobbled streets, drifting aimlessly among the people walking about their lives. A young boy shrieked in delight as he jumped into a pile of fallen foliage that had amassed near a park bench. Harry smiled as he thought of his own child, who would have done the same with similar gusto.

He turned around and looked back at the water, the Black Sea spreading out before them and the centuries-old port city they found themselves in. Harry's hand grasped his wife's, bringing her knuckles to his lips as she gazed towards the sea. Gentle waves lapped against the rocks directly below them. Her nose, slightly red from the wind, crinkled in delight at the beauty on display.

The water was gorgeous, a stunning azure expanse that shimmered golden in the light from the setting sun. He glanced behind them, scanning the passersby who gave little thought to the tourist couple by the water's edge. The hustle and bustle of the crowd during a Friday evening, a pleasant backdrop to the spectacle of Ukraine's sunset.

Fleur was resplendent in her evening's dress. But Harry's eyes were drawn to her elegant swan-like neck, adorned by a bolt of sunshine. His fingers lightly brushed the yellow silk ribbon about her throat.

"Exquisite," he murmured as his lips brushed three times against her own, unable to stop himself from feeling her against him. Her eyes opened as their lips parted, shining blue eyes all-knowing in their mysticism. The look she gave him made him feel powerful, potent, _consumed_. She licked her lips, the pink tip of her tongue darting out to moisten the plump flesh. He kissed her again.

"We must go," she breathed against his mouth. Regretful and wistful in equal measure. "Can't be late."

He released her mouth but held her tight to him by the waist. They smiled at each other, secretive and warm. She reached up to straighten his tie and tidy his hair, her eyes narrowed in concentration as she made him look perfect.

Veela are typically vain beings. At least, that is what Apolline had told him their first Christmas together as a family. They appreciated neat, orderly homes and preferred to look their best. He'd learned quickly that everything had a place in their home and putting the hairbrush in a place different from its designated spot held repercussions. Though, if he was completely and utterly honest with himself, he liked the preening Fleur tended to subject him and herself to. She always liked him to look his best when it mattered and he was giddy that she held such regard in him that she'd show him off in such a manner. Even if having her pick out his clothes slightly prickled his pride.

They held one another close as they strolled to the conference hall. It was a grand edifice, huge and stately. The building was pale yellow, trimmed with white in a way that played off the light brown brick beautifully. The Potters stood for a while, simply marvelling at the architecture. The gently arching blue roof with stone statues standing diligent guard about the balustrades drew the eye upwards. A fountain gurgled merrily at the pavilion in front of the conference hall, the spattering of water magically charmed to sound like music. Each of the eighteen spouts of water was either yellow or blue, alternating between the two in seemingly random order. Green shrubbery and trees stood like soldiers about the fountain and pavilion, the whole place was built by muggles but had since been enchanted.

As was the case with every ICW conference, the entire building had been placed under the Supreme Mugwump's jurisdiction, who then cast a Fidelus Charm upon the location. The ICW staff would then send each attending Ministry of Magic a letter charmed to immolate if it was opened by anyone other than the Minister, within it resided the name and place of the conference. It was then up to the Ministry to invite each individual attendee from within their border to the conference itself. Afterwhich, the Ministry would send a list of guests back to the ICW staff who would vet and check each elected guest thoroughly.

All this information had been stuffed inside Harry's unwilling head by Hermione, who had been keen to go over all the safety measures taken, but it had done little to sway Harry from his decision to not stay at the conference hall itself.

Hence, the small home the Potters had rented for the week was not in Odessa. Instead, they had opted to stay away from the city and the conference. It wasn't entirely a matter of safety either if Harry cared to admit it to himself, but one of privacy.

It also wasn't often they could indulge themselves in a getaway with just the two of them, considering the demands of parenthood and extended family obligations. The tiny place they were staying at was decidedly muggle and brought up many pleasant memories of a honeymoon indolently spent in a chateau corroding by the sea. They planned to spend much of their time during the week tangled up in sheets and whispered memories.

Fleur nestled her head against his shoulder, a hum vibrating in her throat. "Buildings such as this boggle my mind," she said. "That muggles are able to create such things without magic. Magnificent."

"Hard to believe, isn't it?" He replied in agreement. "The amount of work, time, and devotion it must take them to create such things. It makes what they accomplish have… character, perhaps?"

"Mm, yes. This whole city feels alive." She peered up at him, a frozen sea beneath winged lashes. "Are you ready?"

He shifted slightly upon his back foot, tightening his grip on her waist. His face turned up and towards the hall where he'd make his first step onto the international political scene. His heart beat in his chest and the nape of his neck tingled with a phantom sensation, his nerves danced and stomach clenched.

"Stay with me?" he asked; his voice strong and confident to anyone but her.

"Forever."

He nodded and took a step that felt like a leap.

XXXXXXXX

Hermione met the pair just beyond the entrance to the building, immediately latching on to them and beginning to rattle off every scrap of information she knew about the hall, Odessa, and the ICW. Harry grinned at Fleur who peered at him from the corner of her eye, even as she nodded seriously at what their friend was saying.

They had both become used to Hermione's way of handling nerves.

The interior was decadent; huge original pieces of art dominated the walls in gilded frames, marble floors, and ornate furniture. Many browns, greens, and pastel blues decorated the hall they walked along.

Aurors and Hitwizards from every Ministry around the world were staked out in positions among the fancily-potted foliage and busts of nude models.

An individual with mousy hair and a harried face stepped forward, a badge on their lapel grabbing their attention via its garishly blinking enchantment, stating they were ICW staff. The woman barely spared them a glance as she asked their names. Upon hearing them, however, she looked up in alarm.

"Oh dear, yes, of course," came her harried reply. "Right this way, we need you to, oh dear, where did that boy go? One moment please." Her busy tone matched the tremulous energy she exuded as her eyes wheeled about the room looking for someone. Finally, when her patience exceeded her decorum she promptly yelped, "Miguel!"

A hush fell about the bustling hall and she blushed brilliantly before being saved by a man jogging towards their little group. He was stout and portly but had a charming smile decorating his face.

"Ah, the Potters! Glad to see you," he boomed. "If you'll follow me, Mr Akingbade hoped to meet with you before the conference began in earnest."

Hermione let out a tiny yelp, before tugging on Harry's coat sleeve and rising onto her tiptoes. "That's the Supreme Mugwump," she whispered into his ear. He didn't bother with trying to tell her that he already knew who the man was.

Nodding at Miguel, Harry motioned for the man to lead the way. Harry held out his arm for Fleur to take, which she draped herself over in an elegant fashion he had only ever seen her accomplish. It was simultaneously possessive, demure, and regal. Even nearing thirty, he couldn't deny the rush she gave him, nor the, perhaps, immature smugness that came with the reactions of those around him.

They passed small clusters of delegations that had arrived early and were milling about the entryway. The foregin groups sent them guarded stares and their passage resulted in furiously whispered conversation. It was a supremely uncomfortable feeling for Harry, who had been out of the public eye for so long.

Unbidden memories of his second and fourth year at Hogwarts rose, only for him to realize that those were mere schoolchildren. This was a far deadlier stage.

Still, the watchful gazes caused his heart to hammer and stomach to sour but he tried to maintain a semblance of stoicism on his face, the admonishments of Percy, Fleur, and Hermione ringing in his ears about his role to play.

The troop silently trudged up staircases and down hallways until they reached a nondescript door with two towering Ugandan Aurors standing guard outside. Miguel flashed his badge and introduced the party to the extremely tall woman on the left who nodded before tapping her wand tip to the door in a pattering sequence.

The old wooden frame shook from the force of the door being swung open to reveal a colourfully-robed man. The crown of his head was trimmed and plaited neatly, giving his scalp a textured appearance. He was some unidentifiable age, assuredly old but not a wrinkle or grey hair dared show it. His jawline was striking, with a beard artfully decorating it. Without a word to accompany the flat but interested stare affixed to his face, he ushered them inside. Harry fingered his wand, slipping it back into his sleeve while meeting the eyes of the female guard who stared at him knowingly. She nodded to him as he passed.

The office they entered was furnished lavishly and dominated by a truly massive desk made of ivory. Harry stopped in his tracks at the sheer intricacy and embellishments of the piece of art being used as a writing table. The Supreme Mugwump laughed as he noticed Harry's incredulous expression.

"An heirloom," the man stated, his voice a deep, rich timbre. "Passed down in my family from the first to visit the Mountains of the Moon."

Harry started at being addressed and felt some chagrin at being caught. He scratched the back of his head, "I've not seen anything like this before," he admitted. "It's beautiful."

The ICW's head nodded, his blank expression never faltering. "Muggles would be horrified to see it. The ivory-trade is a bloody, terrible affair. But my family always claims that this is the ivory taken from the first elephant. An ancestor of mine, in fact."

Fleur took the obvious bait.

"Oh? That sounds like a fascinating tale."

The man gave a nod in her direction. "It is, indeed. But please, take a seat before I tell it."

As the group settled in plush chairs around the focus of their discussion the man introduced himself formally.

"I am Babajide Akingbade. Some call me the Supreme Mugwump and others call me a fool. I shall allow you to make your own determinations. But it is a pleasure to meet you all."

Harry held out a hand to shake but Mr Akingbade shook his head and held up his hands. "I apologise, Mr Potter, but I allow few to touch me. It is not personal, I assure you."

Immediately, he pulled his hand back. "I'm sorry, force of habit," he replied contritely.

"No apology necessary. It takes time and study to learn all the eccentricities of the myriad of cultures present here today. No one expects you to know all of them." Mr Akingbade paused. "Well, some of them might, but they are either ridiculous or determined to be your critics."

Harry had a feeling there would be quite a few of those sort of people present.

"As I was saying, the desk has been passed down far enough back that even my family has forgotten it's exact age. Though the story has lived on as they often do." Mr Akingbade steepled his fingers in a way that was oddly memorable to Harry. "My grandfather told me that my ancestors had been destitute and starving when the second son had decided to take a trip to find his fortune. He hoped to find goats or cattle but instead was visited in his dreams by a messenger that bid him to go to the Mountains of the Moon. There he found the Uagadou School in its infancy. He was told of his magic abilities and bid to join them in learning how to control it. My ancestor was conflicted. Compelled to learn but his duties to his family pulled him back. The Uagadou School founders gave him a special ointment with instructions so that he would be able to feed his family and hurry back to be taught."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Fleur and Hermione who were perched on the edges of their seats. He stifled a chuckle at how drawn in they were by the tale. Even he could admit to Mr Akingbade's skill as an orator; pausing with meaning and emphasising certain words through the fluctuation of his tone. So amused was he that he missed part of what was said.

"—And so, he arrived back at his family's village and, following the instructions he was given, coated his sister's two pointed teeth of her upper jaw in the magical concoction. Within a few weeks, her teeth had grown into great tusks, thick and long. He removed the tusks and sold them for many goats. On and on they did this until one day his sister refused to remove her tusks. Time passed and she became large and thick and grey. Eventually, she lumbered into the forest, never to be seen again, but from her pregnant belly came the first elephants."

"This ivory," he said, while rapping his knuckles against the top of the desk. "Was her final shed to her family before leaving. It has been passed down ever since."

Harry was at a loss and judging by Fleur's scrunched eyebrows she was as well. Luckily, Hermione jumped in.

"The elephant, really? How long ago was this? I thought the Uagadou School has been around for around one thousand years, while elephants have been around far longer. Have you done any magical testing? Oh, muggles have this fascinating technology called carbon-dating, perhaps if we used that we could—"

Mr Akingbade raised a hand to forestall the flood of words. "Whether the tale is real or not has no import to me, Mrs Granger. However, what I have to say next is the real reason why I told that story to begin with. Are any of you familiar with the African creature, the Grootslang?"

Seeing the obvious uncertainty of his audience, the man simply nodded before continuing. "I'm not surprised. It is a rare creature only found in certain parts of Africa, places of deep wealth. Caves or seafloors with great glittering gems or ores. They have great tusks and glittering scales, an amalgamation of elephant and sea serpent." Harry wondered if Luna had heard of this creature as it sounded remarkably similar to one Hermione had claimed to be imaginary.

Mr Akingbade continued. "African cryptozoologists claim the elephant descended from the Grootslang as many mundane animals come from magical creatures. Perhaps you understand the connection between my story and the creature?"

Fleur nodded confidently. "You suggest, perhaps, that the Grootslang, hoarder of wealth, is the poor man's sister from your tale."

The man gave a guarded smile, the first he'd let slip since meeting them. "Mrs Potter has made the correct deduction. In fact, it is the same deduction that a certain Mr Kneissley made around three-hundred years ago. He was a cryptozoologist who believed that the vast majority of magical creatures are the product of primal magic being used either intentionally, or unintentionally, by early wizards or natural, magic mutation."

"This is interesting, sir," Harry said tentatively, speaking up for the first time since the story began. "But what exactly does this have to do with the conference?"

"I'm overjoyed that you asked, Mr Potter. Let us agree, momentarily, that Mr Kneissley's theory was correct. All magical creatures were created in some form or another by primitive magicians. What then, are magical beings? You know the difference, surely, that provides the divide within the contemporary classification. I'm uninterested in the textbook recitation of sentience versus instinct." The large man slammed a fist upon the desk, creating a solid thud in the emphatic emphasis of his point. "Let me hear, instead, your philosophical perspective."

Harry peered at Hermione and Fleur who seemed to be deep in thought. Hermione was chewing her lip while Fleur twisted her platinum hair around her finger. She seemed to have come to her own conclusion but looked at him instead, a subtle sign that he should speak. That look, in addition to the way Mr Akingbade's eyes bored into him, made Harry sure that the question was really intended for him alone.

With a small breath after a few more moments of silent contemplation, he spoke. "If creatures were created then beings are the creators." He glanced at Fleur, who smiled encouragingly at him. "I find it unlikely that human magicians did all the creating. Especially because Goblins have such a peculiar and familiar understanding of Kneazles. If magical beasts can use supernatural abilities bestowed upon them but are incapable of using magic itself. Then perhaps Beings are simply those able to channel magic."

Mr Akingbade's face gave nothing away even as he spoke, his tone was wholly neutral. "Then, by such a definition, are wizards, not 'magical beings?'"

Harry felt like this was where the man had been guiding him all along. "That would seem to be the case."

The man gave a sharp nod. "Such an opinion would make you few friends in our world, Mr Potter. Indeed, that same theory is one you share with Mr Kneissley, who was exiled from magical society for his heretical studies."

The man suddenly looked ancient and weary; his eyes turned haggard and withdrawn. "Wizards believe themselves superior and they would recoil at the idea they are the same as those they classify beneath them. If they were to think that they are the same as Veela or Goblins it would mean they would either have to lower themselves or elevate those they consider inferior. Neither option is particularly palatable."

"Is that a warning?" Fleur questioned sharply, her eyes taking on a dangerous edge.

"Yes," the Supreme Mugwump replied, unconcerned by her reproachful tone. "You are playing a dangerous game without all the facts. You must understand that it is not only pureblood discrimination you seek to topple. No, it is far more deep-seated than that. What is the true divide between beast and being? My country believes the Grootslang to be a being, as do I — a sort of ancestor even. But the rest of the world views them as violent, territorial creatures. The same can be said of Giants, Werewolves… and even Veela."

At Harry's intake of violent breath, the man's eyes snapped to his, forestalling his tirade. "Do not presume to misunderstand me, Mr Potter." His tone was clipped and urgent. "My husband is an Irish Selkie, I promise that my investment in the passage of this resolution mirrors your own." Harry gaped stupidly.

"But you must remember that in seeking to elevate one," his eyes strayed to Fleur, who met his gaze steadily, "you must seek to raise them all or forever condemn them to 'creature-hood.' But in doing so you exponentially increase your risk. For each creature, beast, and being has their own baggage that you must erase in order to justify their existence to those who have biases against them or their own self-interested position of superiority to maintain."

Harry grit his teeth before biting out as respectfully as he could muster, "if you seek to warn me of the difficulty of the task we've undertaken, don't bother. I've been made painfully aware of just how naive my hope that progress is possible in wizarding society truly is. But doing nothing is abhorrent to me and should be to you as well."

The men glared at one another as silence bubbled about the room.

Finally, Mr Akingbade's expression smoothed out once more into his typical blank mask. "Please just try and remember that not all Beings are as beautiful as your wife, or humanoid like my husband. It will be easier to make the classification of sentient beings simple and easy to understand: those that look and act human. Many are looking to amend your resolution thusly."

"But that is just another form of wizarding ego," Fleur whispered quietly, staring at her folded hands upon her lap.

When she looked up her eyes were steel blue. "I am Veela and should be treated with respect and dignity not because I am human-ish in looks or can behave in a magical society, but because I think and have feelings, aspirations, emotions and sensibilities. However, I have my own culture different from that of human wizards. I have a separate nature and disposition." She narrowed her eyes at the man across from them and the magical hum of her allure strengthened in her agitation. She was glorious. Potent. Terrible.

And then it was gone and she was serene once more. "You are cautioning us of integration. The Grootslang is hardly human in appearance, and few would care to classify it as a Being, but even if it were to be seen as one, it could never integrate into human magical society in a meaningful way. Like myself or your husband."

Hermione's face cleared of troubled clouds and she brightened considerably before speaking. "So a delegation or regional bloc is seeking to establish integration-provisions. You're worried we'd take it because it provides us with what we want personally, namely rights for werewolves and Veela."

"But in requiring that Beings are humanoid and capable of integration, we'd leave out a whole slew of lesser-known Beings like the Grootslang," Harry intoned, catching on.

"The African Regional Bloc is looking to move on the integration provision. They have no trouble with werewolves or vampires, but they worry about Beings like the Kishi or Aigamuxa being granted protections. Both are sentient and humanoid but decidedly… let us say, dangerous. So their inability to integrate with human society, their source of food, would leave them in their current and well-regulated status."

"What worked in England won't work for the whole world," Hermione said. "We know that. Many of the Beings other countries deal with that are dangerous are not capable of safely assimilating with human culture."

"But not all of us need to," Fleur interjected irately. "Just because I have does not mean all Veela aspire to do so. Nor all werewolves. Give them protections and rights but don't force us to change for it."

Hermione looked thunderstruck and a little hurt. "I would never."

Fleur gave her an apologetic look and clasped their hands together. "I know that, Hermione. You have my complete trust. But Mr Akingbade's caution is worthwhile. We have to be wary not to take the easiest deal from an allied delegation without serious forethought. I cannot honestly say that I would have realized the dangers of an integration provision if we had not had this conversation."

The bushy-haired witch nodded resolutely. "You are right of course. This is a far murkier stage than England. We are so used to bald-faced prejudice there that the more nuanced forms of discrimination and regulation may be harder to notice. Please know that I will be extremely diligent with the negotiations."

Harry snorted, effectively defusing the sombre moment. "Diligence was never even a question when it came to you, Hermione." He gave her a large, fond smile. "We wouldn't trust anyone else with such a massive, important undertaking."

His old friend sniffled once, before giving Harry and Fleur a watery smile in gratitude for their belief.

Mr Akingbade chose that moment to clear his throat and bring the attention of the three friends back to him. Only Hermione looked sufficiently chastised at forgetting his presence.

"I am a neutral party as Supreme Mugwump. I have no political ties to my region of origin. But I've heard things from time to time." His eyes glittered. "I believe that whatever Resolution you form now at this conference will be the most... informed and impactful it could be." He gave them a bright, white smile.

Well, Harry thought, at least the Supreme Mugwump was on their side. Surely, that had to count for something. But he couldn't help but wish that those that held such a powerful position weren't so bloody odd.

XXXXXXXX

Standing in the shadowy side room next to the entrance hall leading to the conference centre, Fleur fussed over Harry's tie.

"I can't believe you still don't know how to properly knot these," she scolded him.

Harry remained quiet as he simply watched her straighten his silk, paisley tie about his neck, fastening it securely and perfectly.

She was so close that he could feel her warm breath pulsing against his throat and even in the dim lighting he could make out the constellation of barely-noticeable freckles that adorned her high cheekbones. Arctic blue eyes glimmered up at him through long lashes.

He made no mention of intentionally botching his knots so she would have the excuse to do it for him.

She made a positively adorable noise of happiness in her throat at her success with his tie before giving his chest a pat. "Good, you look," her eyes held his fetchingly, "delectable."

His eyes followed the trail of the pink tongue that glided between her lips.

With a groan he leaned down to capture those wet lips, sucking the plump flesh between his teeth so he could bite lightly and possessively. Her response was no less passionate, fisting his lapels in her tiny, delicate hands and letting out a truly ardent moan.

"Soon," she sighed breathlessly against his feasting lips.

Not soon enough for his liking. The conference's opening feast would last for _hour_ s and he wanted her now.

With a groan, he wrenched himself away. His eyes locked to his wife's as they stood panting against one another.

She grinned saucily at him before reaching up to wipe the lipstick he'd stolen from her off of his mouth. "Can't have you going out there looking so debauched," she stated amusedly. "What would the genteel lords and ladies think?"

Harry scoffed. "That my wife was having her wicked way with me in what amounts to a politician's broom-closet, I suspect."

"Mmm," she hummed lowly. "If it's wicked you want…" She trailed off with a mischievous and sultry smirk on her face before her hand started to trail downwards.

A puff of white mist shot out of Harry's sleeve where his wand resided. The Potter's stared at the shimmering spellwork in shock for a moment before realization dawned on them.

Harry blushed scarlet as Fleur eyed him. "Did you just… unconsciously cause your wand to shoot out a Patronus Charm?" she asked with a strange tone.

His eyes refused to look anywhere but her as he felt the blood continue to heat his face. Finally, he settled on a particularly ornate lamp in the corner of the room before replying. "I swear, this never happens to me."

A delighted snort came from his wife who could no longer contain her giggles.

"I can't believe that happened," Fleur finally gasped out after they had both dissolved into laughter against one another.

"I didn't even know that could happen," Harry admitted.

His wife's fingers trailed up his chest. "You must love me an awful lot," she teased coyly.

"You must make me impossibly happy," he amended quietly; catching her wandering hand in his and pressing his lips hard against her knuckles.

"Are you ready, my love?" She asked, her eyes tender and fingers intertwined with his.

"As much as I can be, I expect," Harry responded before turning them both so they faced the door out into the hall.

They both took a deep breath in harmony before glancing at one another. With a nod and a smile, they opened the door.

XXXXXXXX

Mr Akingbade was standing at the raised dais in the magically expanded hall. His arms were raised out to his side so as to garner the attention of the conference-goers. A hush fell upon the hall just as Harry and Fleur slipped into the room. He thanked his luck for such perfect timing when all attention would be elsewhere. Surreptitiously, he guided Fleur upon his arm over to where the English delegation was located while the Supreme Mugwump gave his opening speech.

Upon reaching the small table with a British Flag waving dutifully above it, the Potters smoothly integrated with Hermione and her team. Harry was glad to see only one young man who seemed utterly starstruck by their presence. The other four looked remarkably professional.

Turning to the podium, Harry caught the rest of Mr Akingbade's words.

"Translation Charms will be used ubiquitously throughout the conference. As you can obviously tell, I am currently demonstrating their use." The tall man looked over the gathering with a calm, authoritative energy. "We ask that you not attempt to cast the charm yourself. Only someone versed in the language can cast it upon another person and give them credible comprehension. Luckily, that is what the Scriba Interpres is for." With a clap and a slight bow, the man gestured to a woman who hobbled up next to him.

She was ancient, more so than anyone Harry had ever seen. Additionally, she was remarkably tiny, with white ear hair neatly plaited, which hung down to her shoulders. The woman wore a lovely Victorian bonnet with a massive feather and a violet hydrangea perched atop it.

With a wave of his wand, Mr Akingbade summoned a table that had stood next to the wall to float and settle before the Scriba Interpres. With no further ceremony, as this was almost certainly a regular occurrence at each conference, people began to file in front of her as she cast the Translation Charm on each in turn.

"She is fluent in more languages than are spoken nowadays!" Hermione exclaimed excitedly, practically vibrating beside him.

Harry idly hoped that the elderly woman didn't have a heart-attack when faced with the sheer exuberance of his friend. Hermione sped off to save them a spot in line.

As the English table got up to follow, a statuesque blonde woman moved to intercept them, her hair the colour of burnished gold that had a near metallic sheen to it. The hair stopped at her bare shoulders that showed milky white skin. The gown that wrapped around her was a navy so dark it could pass for black. She was a near-perfect beauty except for a long, horrid scar that ran down the side of her jaw and over the side of her neck to her exposed collarbone.

"Mother," exclaimed Fleur delightedly; letting go of Harry's arm briefly to kiss her mother's cheeks in greeting. "You are stunning!"

Apolline Delacour gave a stately smile, the picture of serenity. However, the warm light in her eyes belied her true feelings regarding the reunion with her eldest daughter.

"Magnificent," the Delacour matron exclaimed, twirling her daughter in a pirouette. "You look positively radiant, my dear."

Fleur beamed a smile before returning to Harry's side. He grinned roguishly at his mother-in-law. "You shame all the women here, Mrs Delacour, even those half your age."

"Tsk-tsk, Harry, to flirt with me so openly in front of your wife. What would my husband think?" She teased back familiarly.

"Where is that old coot, anyways?" He asked laughingly.

"Matisse was called on urgent business, unfortunately. He won't be able to attend." Apolline shook her head sadly. "Leaving me to brave the conference without him."

Harry fought a wave of disappointment. "That is unfortunate news. I'd hoped to see him tonight."

"You hoped he'd be around to help keep you safe, you mean," Fleur said, arching her brow.

"How you wound me, dearest," he replied with a smile. "That was only part of it. I also wanted someone who could make me laugh. This ceremony, I'm sure, will be dreadfully dull."

Apolline gave a slight smirk as she joined them in their walk to get in line, taking Harry's offered arm. "I'll overlook the implication that my husband is little more than a jester for your amusement. Instead, I'll compliment you for cleaning up so nicely tonight."

Harry sighed exaggeratedly. "Your daughter must take credit for that. She wouldn't allow me to come in jeans."

His mother-in-law laughed just as the group rejoined Hermione.

"Oh, Mrs Delacour, you look lovely!" Hermione gushed. "I love your shoes, are those heels muggle-made?"

"Good eye, they are. Muggles have a far better artistic eye than Wizards, I'm afraid. I despise those magically enchanted glass heels that are the trend nowadays."

Hermione nodded seriously. "George got them for Angelina's birthday this year. She shattered them with his beater's bat and asked what sort of floozy he thought she was."

Apolline smothered an unladylike giggle into her hand. "I hope, for his sake, he had another gift on hand."

"Luckily for him, that was a gag-gift. The real gift was a charmed—"

Fleur leaned up to whisper into his ear. "Do you realize everyone is looking at you?"

Harry jolted and peered about him, meeting the eye of everyone in their vicinity. He scowled before smoothing out his face with some difficulty. "I'm sorry to subject you to this."

His wife just smiled beatifically at him, before responding in a sly voice, "I'm not. It's nice, in an odd way, to be shown off like this. You're the envy of every man here, what with two gorgeous women on your arms."

"If fourteen-year-old me could have seen the future…" he mused.

"He was too busy being charmed by Cho Chang."

"I wonder what she's up to nowadays…?" He goaded

A tweak to the meat of his arm made him wince. "Think you're funny, do you?" His wife peered up at him. "Unfortunately for you, I have it on good authority that you're head over heels for me."

Harry gave her his best impersonation of a suave lothario. "You wouldn't be the first." She gave an annoyed huff. "But you are the last," he amended with a fond smile.

"I better be," she said in a feigned irritation, her lips twitching upwards giving her away.

As the English group moved forward in line a man came up uninvited to insert himself into the conversation.

"Terrible business with the newspaper; bad sport I say," an officious, portly man said.

Harry grimaced and his mood took a nosedive. "Thanks." He turned his head away pointedly but the man was undeterred.

He gave a condescending smile before speaking. "And you must be Mrs Potter. Charmed, I'm sure." The man held out his hand in invitation for hers as he introduced himself. "My name is Kaspar Fischer and I'm with the German delegation." He paused, confusion passing over his face as his hand remained empty.

Fleur looked down her nose at him. "Good evening to you, sir," she said frostily. Harry shared her frustration with the man's impertinence.

The man straightened from his stoop and retracted his hand. Embarrassment and anger marred his features briefly before he schooled himself.

"Yes, well. Hopefully, we shall get to know one another better," he muttered before spinning on his heel and striding off.

Harry looked down at Fleur who fumed at his side. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to her temple, deflating her slightly.

"Arrogant, upsetting men will be the norm here, I'm afraid," Apolline said from beside them. "You must keep yourself in check, snowflower."

"Bringing up the newspaper was an obvious faux pas, and to do it before even introducing himself. The nerve," Hermione interjected, frowning.

Fleur nudged Harry's side, bringing his attention back to her. He could feel the storm clouds on his brow. "Forget him," she urged, standing up on the tips of her toes so she could kiss the side of his mouth.

He gave a noncommittal grunt and Fleur's eyes sharpened. "'Arry," she started to say only to be interrupted as the group reached the Scriba Interpres's table.

The English delegation stood silently as the Translation Charm settled over them. It would automatically force any language they spoke to be changed for the listener's understanding. It made Harry's tongue itch.

As the group stepped to the side, Hermione nodded over their shoulder. "You should go and say hello to the Italian delegation now, before dinner. They'll be a good palate-cleanser after that oaf."

Fleur nodded gratefully.

"What will you do, Hermione?" Harry asked.

"I need to go see the Americans. I heard some unsettling news while I was waiting in line."

"I'd like to accompany you, I know one of the American ambassadors." Apolline interjected.

"Alright, see you both soon though, yeah?" He clarified.

His friend grinned up at him. "Of course, I'm not leaving you to the wolves."

He mimed wiping sweat from his brow. "Thank goodness."

She chuckled and with a final smile at Fleur, bounced away.

His wife turned him around and nodded her chin subtly at what had been identified as the Italian delegation. "Shall we, my love?" She asked.

He groaned under his breath as they made their way over. "If we must."

The tall, dark couple loomed over even Harry and Fleur's substantial height. Their skin had an unusual pallor to it too and their youthful appearance was at odds with the ancient formal attire they wore. The woman held out a ruby-jewelled hand, which Harry barely had to stoop to kiss.

"Beatrisa and Ormanno Abbadelli, a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Fleur and Harry Potter," Harry began their introductions, only to be tittered at by the handsome woman.

"The Potters, of course, I'd not guessed by the clamour you caused upon arriving."

"Really?" Harry asked, his voice easy, "I'd have guessed the scar gave it away."

Ormanno and Beatrisa stared at him for a beat before both glanced at one another and laughed.

"He has a wit, my dear."

"Quite. I am diverted, Ormanno, let us reintroduce ourselves." Their back and forth was seamless as though practised for many, many years. It became readily apparent that both were good-natured and witty conversationalists that delighted in dialogue of a unique variety.

"We are part of the Italian delegation, though we're also representatives of a... larger coalition than what lies in our country's borders."

"Oh, they'll never guess," the tall woman said fancifully and blasé.

"Eccentrics?" Fleur smoothly cut in, her wide-eyed affection of innocence completing the delivery of her gentle barb. The two Italians were quick to laugh, doing so often and loudly. Both had a magnetism that drew you in, they were hard to dislike and easy to adore. They guffawed again at Mrs Potter's remark.

"The last name Abbadelli…" Fleur began tentatively, only to be answered immediately.

"Ah, she speaks Italian as well, beauty and brains. Enchanting witch. It is a poor joke on the part of those that named us, I assure you. We had no hand in its formulation." Ormanno replied.

The man's wife nodded eagerly before joining in. "Just like these ghastly outfits." She leaned close as though to impart some terrible secret although her voice did not lower in the slightest. "They actually asked us to appear "vampiric" tonight and gave us what I can only assume are muggle theatre clothes."

Harry barked out a laugh. "You're kidding," he exclaimed.

Ormanno gave a gusty sigh. "Indeed, apparently it would be too hard to tell what we were otherwise."

"Not all of us have a noticeable sign proclaiming what we are, you see. Our fangs apparently don't get the job done quite like a lightning bolt." Beatrisa laid her head on the shoulder of her husband as she spoke, her mouth moving slowly so her elongated teeth were on display.

"The nerve of some people, as though the huddled masses wouldn't notice such prime examples of dental accomplishment," Fleur rejoined the conversation, her eyes alight with good humour.

"Oh, I like her," Beatrisa said gaily.

Ormanno smiled as he tilted his head. "Did you know we don't even drink blood? Well, unless we're looking for a good time. Vampires typically eat a diet of vegetables, blood just makes us drunk, you see."

"These type of gatherings are astoundingly droll without some B negative, I tell you."

Harry gawked at the two vampires in a rather unbecoming manner before Fleur laughed. "My husband was raised by muggles, he may not understand vampire humour," she explained dutifully.

"A shame," Beatrisa exclaimed, "it really sucks the fun out of the whole joke."

"Indeed, what is the point of having a _sharp_ wit in such a case."

Fleur smothered a laugh with her hand, her face sparkling with joy. "He'll catch on eventually, I promise he won't drain the evening of enjoyment for you."

Harry perked up indignantly, "How rude," he said with mocking solemnity. "I've been known to let loose some biting sarcasm occasionally."

His wife sighed while shaking her head, a dainty hand reaching up to tousle his hair with fond exasperation. "Oh, dear. Leave the wit to me, our family honour is at stake after all."

Ormanno barked out a laugh. "Bloody good, as you Brits are fond of saying. I simply must have you both for dinner one night."

Beatrisa idly stroked the long, dark hair of her husband, pulling it forward and over his shoulder. "He means have you over for dinner, I'm sure," She said with a twinkling grin."I'm sure the Potters have a refined taste, we'll be sure to pull out all the stops."

Fleur grinned broadly. "We'd love to, perhaps we could visit in October?"

"That'd be lovely, we will have our thrall contact you with the details," said the Vampiress airily before both ladies laughed.

"A pleasure," Ormanno announced. "To meet you both. But I fear we've taken up too much of your time. The stars of the show must circulate after all."

Looking around, Harry grimaced as he recognized staring faces and speculative eyes upon his huddled group. His wife gripped his arm in support. "Thank you for introducing yourselves. Save us a seat at dinner, we'd be glad to sit with you," Fleur said.

The two Vampires nodded amicably before drifting away with supernatural grace.

"Well, I liked them, at least," Harry stated as he watched the retreating couple.

"The evening isn't an entire loss then," Fleur chuckled.

"Depends on how annoying the vultures surrounding us reveal themselves to be, I suppose," he replied dryly.

He wished he could take the words back as soon as he said them because, as though fate was a fan of irony, a slew of odious individuals descended upon them.

Many proffered handshakes and simpering was done and Harry didn't bother learning any of their names. But he did take the time and effort to identify the men who got too close or acted too slimy with his wife.

For a long time, Harry's mind operated on near-autopilot, making light conversation and actively fighting against his boredom, hoping that his mind wouldn't atrophy from the mind-numbing discussion.

He was jolted out of his stupor when a man gripped his hand with a crushing force. Harry's eyes snapped to the baleful gaze of the man in front of him. He had short-cropped dark hair and brown eyes. He wore an extremely expensive suit and his brown, suede shoes were luxuriously detailed.

"Abbas," the man introduced himself shortly.

"Harry," he replied tersely before extricating his hand.

"Azerbaijan does not support your creature-loving bill, Mr Potter." Spiteful eyes darted over to Fleur at his side before ghosting over her as though she was beneath notice. "You should pull the resolution from the floor and leave. Don't presume that every country wants to join Britain in their bestiality."

Harry's lunge for the man was paralyzed before it began by Fleur's brief spell administered to his side by wand tip. For the first time, he hated the special dispensation the Potters were allowed. Being the only delegation capable of keeping their wands during the ceremony and conference.

"We thank you for your kind words, sir," Fleur said regally, her tone not showing any distress or anger. She was the perfect model of a lady. "I'll be sure to keep that in mind the next time I read a story about Peri brothels."

Abbas straightened as an angry flush coloured his skin. "How dare you speak to me in such a manner, you filthy—"

"I'll ask you and your Armenian friends to leave," a deep voice rumbled to the groups' left. Mr Akingbade and Hermione were standing together, having just walked up. "Let us allow cooler heads to prevail today, yes?"

With a snarl, Abbas stalked away, the hateful men around him turning to follow in his wake.

"I apologize, Mrs Potter. You didn't deserve that," the Supreme Mugwump said, patting her hand. "Perhaps, you can unfreeze your husband now, yes?"

She laughed. "Can't get anything past you, can I?" she replied, even as Hermione gave her a scandalized but concerned look. Mr Akingbade patted Harry's cheek as he glided away.

After the countercharm was invoked Harry rolled his head about his neck, stretching it to a satisfying pop. "I wasn't going to do anything," he lied coolly.

"Mhm," Fleur hummed, unimpressed.

"Harry, quickly, look over there," Hermione gestured excitedly. His eyes followed her direction and landed upon a woman standing with the Armenian delegation. She had a motley collection of thick, gnarled scars twisting their way all over her face and neck. The woman noticed his stare and smiled softly at him. Her left eye was missing, with a tattered eyelid covering the hole.

"Who is she?" He asked curiously.

"Naba Kurkjian. She is one of the few Sentient Being advocates in Armenia. Lost her whole family to a werewolf attack."

Harry stared at Hermione dumbly. "And… she is on our side?" He asked, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Incredibly so. She has even received death threats from her own ministry to cease her actions," his friend replied, admiration evident in her tone.

"Well, damn," he said while turning to survey the milling crowd around them.

A small group was an island unto itself, the wide berth of open space around their tightly packed members like a sea separating them from the rest of the conference. Huge, bear-like men stood in a semi-circle around a diminutive woman and a lanky man who couldn't have been more dissimilar to the hulking counterparts surrounding him.

Harry inclined his chin in question at the group and Hermione followed the tilt of his head. Her eyes alighted on the clustered bodies and she gave a grim smile before speaking. "That is the werewolf representative and her delegation. I've not met her yet, but I've heard stories."

"Good or bad?" Fleur asked from the corner of her mouth, her body tilted away from the group to give the impression they weren't the subject of conversation.

"Strange," Hermione replied. Her voice dropped so the sound wouldn't carry far past them and she discreetly cast a Muffliato spell around them. "Honestly, I wasn't even sure they'd come or be allowed entrance if they did. The woman in the middle is the Pack Leader for all of Russia, Mongolia, Kazakhstan… well really all of Eastern Europe and part of the larger area of Eurasia. She's been uniting packs all over the continent since the Wizarding War ended."

"She's done all that in little over a decade?" Fleur's surprised tone signified the achievement.

"How do you unite a pack?" Harry asked, feeling ignorant based on the slightly awed way Fleur reacted.

"A Pack Leader has to be challenged to single combat. Submission or death…" His wife explained absently from the side of her mouth before resuming her conversation with Hermione. "She would've needed to face over a hundred different pack leaders to control such territory."

Their friend nodded rapidly. "Nearly two-hundred, no losses. Her name is Hirene Volkov; she's the first to unite so many packs into one community since Galarys Thorrfinn from the 1300s. Whether that is a good thing or bad, we don't yet know."

Making his decision, Harry left the women behind and strode purposefully towards the group; he ignored Hermione's scandalized calling of his name. His nearing presence was picked up on immediately, the ranks of the large men on the outer circle neatly sliding into protective positions around their tiny leader. He was just close enough to hear the grumbled snarl that came from her throat that had her guardians returning to their previous positions.

Upon reaching a respectable distance, he stopped, allowing her to see him and gesture him forward. She cocked her head to the side at his obvious display of respect. As she did so, he examined her closely.

She was a hard woman, the planes of her face were weathered and claw marks ran over her left eye. She had white hair starkly different from the Veela silver he was used to, lacking the lustre and inherent glow. She was muscular, even beneath the fur coat she wore over her dark robes he could see the rippling, broad strength of her. Her yellow eyes were unmistakably that of a predator. She couldn't have been more than three years his elder.

A scarred hand slipped out of the long sleeves of her robe to beckon him forward. He took the few remaining steps to completely erase the distance between them. She appraised him before speaking, "Harry Potter," the translation charm making a faint buzzing sound in his ears as the Russian was overlaid with English. "I am Hirene, pack leader and wolf representative."

He inclined his head respectfully. He spoke only after raising his head and meeting her eyes. "It is a pleasure to meet you." Opening his mouth to speak, he found himself cut off.

"You sought me out, why?"

Although her height caused him to look down he couldn't help but feel small next to the self-assured power rolling off her in waves. He had met the savagery of Fenrir Greyback before but she was a different animal altogether. He considered his next words carefully, "I wanted to know the person rather than the biography."

She smirked at him and it was all teeth. "Something you appreciate yourself, I am sure. You knew a werewolf, did you not? One that died in the war."

"Yes, I'm the godfather to his son."

She nodded as though the information was known to her. "Remus Lupin, packless, changed by Greyback at the age of four."

"You apparently know much about him."

"It is my business to know one of the few examples of werewolves standing against Voldemort, especially considering today's assembly." Her yellowed eyes narrowed. "Let us not stand on pretence. We both know that werewolves will be the biggest obstacle to the Equalist agenda. You've come to assess whether myself and my people will be a hindrance or a boon."

Harry fought the urge to shuffle his feet or look away but he could feel his pulse quicken at her accusation. "I do not mean to offend you. I didn't look to acquaint myself with you for such reasons. Truthfully I don't have a mind for politics nor the taste for it. Remus was a good man. I never fully knew how badly he suffered because of lycanthropy until he was already gone. The papers speak of camps being made in Azerbaijan and Armenia for werewolves. I wanted to know if you had plans regarding them. If you needed or were looking for help."

He continued to keep his unblinking focus on Hirene even as her retinue's heads turned to look at him from their routine scanning of the assembly. She had stilled only briefly before a finger began tapping against her cheek.

"The situation is not unknown to me," she began slowly. "However, it is fraught with complications. They are the countries that have the deepest trauma with our kind. Galayrs Thorrfinn razed the wizarding communities to the ground there, and they have borne the brunt of lycanthropy outbreaks many times over."

Her eyes flickered to his and the yellow eyes bored into him. He fought the urge to look away.

Perhaps it was his imagination but she seemed pleased as she continued her deconstruction of the problem.

"The packs there are scattered and feral. Each time a new leader worth anything is appointed they disappear shortly thereafter. Regulations have long since been in place to stop them from attending school or receiving an education. They've grown violent and dumb. Not to mention the strict travel ban on werewolves entering or exiting the countries. I've considered sending a wizard representative on my behalf but…" she trailed off. "His entry into the country was denied."

"The situation is worse than I thought."

"Yes, worse than many care to think about."

"If we can get the Resolution passed, perhaps we can get an international coalition to inquire into the state of affairs within Armenia and Azerbaijan. It would afford you access, if nothing else."

She shifted slightly. "Your friend, Granger, has taught you well, I see." Her gaze hardened. "But you are both naive to the truth of what will happen here."

"I prefer being hopeful rather than stagnant in apathy."

Yellow eyes widened before a sharp laugh rang out. Both Harry and Hirene looked over at the slim man whose humour had spilled into the air unbidden. It was the strange youth who seemed so at odds with the potent presence of the battle-hardened individuals surrounding him. He was also the nearest in physical proximity to Hirene herself.

The woman sighed before her lips quirked upwards in fond exasperation. The intensity of her demeanour lessened significantly. She raised a hand and gestured to the man. "This is Barry, my husband and mate."

Barry, a bespeckled, slim man adjusted his thick glasses before extending a hand out to shake. "Hello," he said jovially, no translation charm buzz accompanying the word, "I'm a muggle from Malta. Well, I was born in the U.K, before my parents moved to Malta. Then I got a job working in IT at a Swedish firm. Actually, that's where I met-"

A throat clearing of Hirene caused the younger man to stumble to a sheepish halt. "Sorry, I ramble when I get nervous." Barry fiddled with his bowtie.

Harry, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the gush of words smiled before responding. "No apologies necessary, I'm glad to meet you. IT, that is computer stuff right? I don't know much about it I'm afraid."

"Oh, no worries at all. Most of the magicals I've met don't have any clue what I'm talking about and explaining it to them makes them more confused."

Harry found the man's rapid-fire speech was rather charming, even if it made listening rather difficult. "I didn't mean to laugh," he explained, "I just agree that something should be done. I mean, this whole prejudice against werewolves is ridiculous, right? Surely, something can be done. Why, I was positively flummoxed when a wizarding restaurant refused us service, can you believe the gall?"

"Barry," came a quiet but forceful warning, "I'm sure Mr Potter doesn't want to hear about our business." The man adjusted his glasses again before shooting both Hirene and Harry an apologetic look.

"Right, nerves. Sorry."

His wife gave him an amused look and reached out her hand to grasp his own long fingers so he'd stop buttoning and unbuttoning his suit jacket. Her expression became steel upon turning back to Harry, hiding behind the mask of leadership once more.

"I too hope that this conference will be more than mere lip service, but I have a duty to my pack and to werewolves everywhere that I don't solely rely on the benevolence of wizards to create change and opportunities for us. I'm sure you understand my position."

Harry nodded. "I do. My wife shares your view of the situation, I'd like to prove you both wrong, if at all possible."

She nodded before looking around him. "She is a beautiful woman, though I think she'd rather you were by her side." He turned and sought out Fleur. She was currently being spoken to by a small battalion of men while Hermione was obviously attempting to direct the crowd's attention elsewhere.

He swore under his breath and a humorous chuff sounded behind him. "We will talk later as there is much to discuss." Taking the dismissal for what it was, Harry turned to leave but not before nodding his head one final time at Hirene and Barry.

With long, purposeful strides he made his way over to Fleur, who glanced over her shoulder at his approach. She rolled her eyes playfully and he wrapped an arm around her waist before pecking her temple with his lips. "Sorry, I shouldn't have left you alone," he whispered against her ear.

She pinched his hand that was clasped upon her hip in silent rebuke before nudging him with her shoulder. When she spoke, it was loud and clearly intended for the group still surrounding them. "Miroslav was just telling me about a most amusing anecdote from Serbia, what was it again? Something about the luxurious and discreet hotels there?"

The Serbian Ministry official was easily identified as the men around him shuffled away as though afraid of being associated with him. Deciding to move on rather than cause a scene, the choice Hermione was obviously indicating with the bugging of her eyes and extravagant pantomiming, Harry simply spoke around the grinding of his teeth. "Yes, my wife and I have been meaning to visit. My mother-in-law is very fond of the hot springs and hamam in Sokobanja."

The nervously vibrating man gave a jerky nod before scurrying away. The space left by his absence was quickly filled in by the surrounding ministry officials.

One oily-looking man leaned far into Harry's personal space, extending the hand that wasn't smoothing the combover atop his round head. The man introduced himself but the name was lost on Harry whose attention was taken by the beautifully dressed woman and man approaching them, an expensive red and white headscarf with pale tassels tastefully adorning both their heads.

The crowd parted around the newcomers and the group directly around the Potters seemed to disappear.

The woman smiled vibrantly but did not reach out a hand in greeting like the man did, who vigorously pumped Harry's in a firm grip before kissing Fleur's knuckles.

"Lovely to meet you," he said in English before switching to his native tongue, the translation charm kicking in. "I am Yosef, from Jordan, and this is the lovely Sharifa, from Egypt."

Sharifa smiled again before speaking, the robe-like abaya swirling loosely around her as she turned to greet Harry and Fleur respectively. "Hello to you both."

Fleur returned the smile as she complimented the woman's garb. The two women began talking in hushed tones as Yosef spoke to Harry. "Just so you know, Jordan and most of the Middle East delegation is with you on the resolution. The only state that has a problem with it didn't bother to send a delegation so you'll hear no fight from us."

Harry smiled. "That is a relief. I've been told all about the countries that do have problems with the proposal. It is a welcome change to hear about the opposite."

The Jordanian official had an easy demeanour and smiled broadly, "I imagine so."

Sharifa turned to the two men, interrupting Yosef with a look. "I read the latest version of the Sentient Beings Resolution and noticed that Sphinxes are still classified as beasts and not beings." Her smile continued pleasantly even as her tone turned dangerous. "Any particular reason why?"

Harry rubbed his jaw before speaking. "No offense was meant, I believe England sent a representative to try and locate a Sphinx representative, but he never returned."

The woman scoffed. "No doubt he answered a riddle wrong, is what you imply?"

"No," came Fleur's firm rebuke. "Harry survived a Sphinx's riddle in the Triwizard Tournament. My husband bears them no ill will, but even you must admit that the Sphinx do not have a community or leader. England could not find a representative capable of speaking for their race and the Sphinx they have access to are those who have been in captivity for a long time."

"Egypt has been trying to classify the Sphinx as a being and not a beast for decades now. But Europe has consistently denied the motion, citing their 'aggressive tendencies.' Would you be willing to amend the resolution to include such a provision?"

Harry gaped slightly before Fleur nudged him. "I, uh, don't really have that authority. Hermione is the one in charge, not me." At the woman's unmollified expression, he amended his statement by tacking on. "But I'll talk to her about it." He remembered the Grootslang and his resolve straightened his spine. "I'm sure she will be just as agreeable as I am to it."

The woman nodded as though that was a foregone conclusion before smiling again, this time in earnest. "I fully approve of this resolution. You have Egypt's total support." With that said, she turned and glided away gracefully.

Yosef chuckled good-naturedly. "She is a force of nature, that woman. Been the Egyptian Minister for twenty years now, started when she was just twenty-four. She's done the whole region a lot of good." The man shook his head before shaking both Harry and Fleur's hands. "Pleasure to meet you both, I hope to get to know you better this week." They each replied in the affirmative before watching him lope off after his friend.

"I'm in way over my head," Harry admitted quietly to his wife.

She grinned at him amusedly. "Did you think the politics of negotiating Fayette eating her vegetables would be transferable, mon cœur?"

He grumbled in reply and she laughed brightly. "Everyone has an agenda and they all assume I know what I'm doing. I thought I'd come, pose for pictures and leave."

"I imagine Hermione knew if she told you what to expect you'd suddenly find a pressing matter to attend at home for the week."

"Probably," he admitted ruefully.

"There are a number of interesting people here tonight," Fleur said quietly, mirth still bubbling underneath her tone as she smoothly transitioned to lighter topics.

"You didn't meet the techie married to the werewolf queen."

A throaty chuckle erupted from Fleur's graceful neck. "I'll need to rectify that before we leave."

He gave a hum of agreement as they lapsed in easy silence and people-watched. They were finally alone and in the corner of the room. Both took the respite gladly.

It did not last long.

A woman of extensive beauty with a retinue of equally lovely women trailing behind her arrived shortly.

"My name is Zlata," she announced in greeting. The ladies behind her stopped a respectful distance away, forming a sort of barrier between their leader's conversation and the rest of the room.

Fleur curtsied, "Mother," she said respectfully. The title triggered Harry's understanding that he was now talking to a Veela elder.

He bowed low at the waist and a pale hand was given to him which he took lightly before pressing a kiss to his thumb resting above the woman's knuckles.

The woman sniffed decorously before turning her full attention away from Harry as if he didn't exist. "Сестра, you must visit the Carpathian Mountains while you are here. The старий forest is alive this time of year." The older Veela cocked her head to the side and eyed him. "The Aeire here would welcome you and your husband." She paused, her eyes blinking slowly. "Provided you have already danced for him, yes?"

Fleur blushed prettily, her eyes darting from side to side. Harry smiled as he caught sight of the tips of her ears, tinged red, amidst the sea of her platinum hair. She dipped her head in acknowledgement to the older Veela's obvious pleasure.

"Good, then I shall look forward to having you both call on us before you leave." Nodding imperiously at them, Zlata swept away, her golden hair swishing behind her.

Harry scratched the side of his head, peering over at Fleur who stood stock still beside him. "Uh," he said intelligently.

Fleur shook her head violently. "Old crow," she muttered. "Asking about our Dance where any could hear. How rude."

Harry's wedding band grew warm, the strand of Fleur's hair that formed the platinum radiated heat in response to the memory Fluer had invoked.

The Veela wedding ceremony, done separately from the traditional wizard one they'd thrown a month prior, had occurred in the forest of Chaux in France. The snow had been thick and the ancient oaks bare as Fleur led him deep into the heart of the forest. She had walked reverently, barefoot through the snow and had requested him to do the same.

Warming charms had saved him from frostbite, though the numbness had taken days to dissipate. During the journey, Fleur had spoken of her people and their connection to the forest. He had heard her speak of it before but never in such detail, never while they were surrounded by the very trees she spoke of so fondly.

They had finally stopped beneath a massive, gnarled behemoth of a tree. It was late at night, the moon shining brightly overhead. Not a cloud marred the sky, whose belly of stars merrily twinkled above. Harry didn't know how long they had been walking or how far they had gone. But now he was certain he stood before the eldest tree in the forest. There, Fleur had turned to him and, shrugging off her cloak, began to dance.

The dance was unlike any he had ever seen before, human or Veela. This was for him and him alone. No one else would ever witness Fleur Delacour's courting dance. To the tune of her own voice, sung in a language fluctuating fluidly between French and some primaeval, unrecognizable tongue, she had twirled about the snowy landscape.

Harry stood transfixed, sound dropping away but for her voice. The dull thud of his heart seemed distant and inconsequential. Thoughts had dissipated before they could form, swirled away by the chilled wind carrying flurries of downy powder.

Before his eyes she had changed, her full, luscious form giving way to a beak, talons, feathers, wings. Divinity.

Her voice shifted along with her body, the dulcet tones turning raw, heady, and powerful. The soothing melody was sharply sweet as it ensnared Harry. Wrapping around him lovingly but not without warning. This was a Veela at her most base. Nature bared and primal, her soft but edged, hungry love like a silk-covered knife. This was Fleur Delacour.

Only when the sun's first rays blazed the snow orange around them did Fleur stop. Her head bowed as she came to her rest. With a starkly unnatural grace, she stayed poised in some primitive, demure curtsy.

No word was spoken, no instruction given, no meeting of eyes or gestures of hands. But Harry's magic pulled him forward, his heart knowing instinctively what to do, perhaps understanding the words he could not.

A choice was supposed to be made… but not truly. Not today. Not for Harry. His choice had long since been branded upon his soul. Ever since that kiss by the lake.

With a steady hand, Harry reached out and plucked a shining silver hair from Fleur's lowered head. A moment of tension before heart recognized soul. A gust of wind. The rustle of branches. A searing strand of platinum now weaving around his ring finger.

The pain had been intense but quick. Harry hadn't made a single sound of protest or surprise, as though that too, he always knew would happen. He looked up from the woven band upon his finger into Fleur's impossibly blue eyes. Tears fell freely, sliding across the smooth planes of her cheeks to drip into the snow below.

"Forever," he had whispered. His breath a mist upon the air between them.

"Eternally," was her reply before scalding, greedy lips had claimed whatever scrap of him wasn't hers already.

"Harry?"

The memory shattered, the glow of his ring fading to a warm gold as the magically imprinted memory washed away. He looked around as though surprised to find himself not ankle-deep in snow in the last elder forest of France.

A smooth hand cupped his cheek, questioning blue eyes searching his own.

"Remembering," he choked out, still feeling a tad displaced.

A flash of understanding, a brilliant smile, a soft peck to the edge of his mouth. Long, artistic fingers twining with his own. "Nothing has changed, mon cœur, nothing ever will," she cooed, nuzzling the side of his neck.

Harry's heart raced in his chest, his blood singing in his veins, breath catching as he watched velvet-soft silver feathers ruffle up beneath the skin on Fleur's bare shoulder to shine in the light of the ballroom.

Sound slowly returned to the two gently swaying against one another in the corner of the room. The babble of bodies, the laughter, the music, the swirling of cloaks, filtering through the intimate cocoon of fond remembrances Harry and Fleur had created for themselves. He raised his eyes from watching Fleur's entrancing feathers to blink owlishly about the room, remembering where they were.

He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, bidding her to return to the present as well. Harry sighed as her feathers shrunk, disappearing once more into smooth, pale skin. Fleur's face turned upwards, lips eagerly seeking out his own.

His wife drew back, their hands still twisted together, her lips now the same yellow as the ribbon adorning her throat.

A few people nearest them were casting furtive glances their way. But Harry paid them no mind, simply giving Fleur time to calm and reign in her nature.

The soft squeeze of their linked hands assured him of her tranquillity. As a united front, they dived back into the teeming maelstrom of politicians and prying eyes.

XXXXXXXX

Finally, they were gloriously alone. The opening ceremony had gone on far longer than Harry could stand. His memories of a snowscape union evoking a sharp, possessive desire to whisk his wife away. Unfortunately, he had to wait three more hours until Hermione deigned to let them leave, claiming their duty done for the night.

Now, back in their rented abode, he stalked his prey. She was waiting for him in their bedroom. No words had been spoken since leaving the conference hall, none were necessary between them. Longing glances and furtive touches communicated far more clearly what both needed from the other.

Standing behind her now, he reached up to knead the muscles of her slender shoulders. His fingers burrowed hard enough that he had to steady her by pressing down and back in his administrations.

She swayed and let out gasping coos of pleasure and praise. The ribbon that had tempted him all night became too much and he put his tongue to her throat. Deliberate and slow, he savoured the sensitive skin of her neck where it met the sunshine silk. She tasted of thunderstorms and pomegranates, decadent and untamed.

A shiver passed through her, feathers sprouting beneath his hands as they continued their task, now moving forward and slipping around front to worship the hollow of her collarbones.

Her body was sinful and intoxicating, even though it was as familiar to him now as his own. By night's end he aimed to all but own it.

XXXXXXXX

The edge of need had long since been sated as their sweaty bodies lay cooling under the open air. Debauched, tangled silver hair lay about their bed in long tendrils, as though shooting stars streaking against the dark sky of their blankets.

Blue eyes looked at him and he felt powerful and alive. In love.

She traced his lips with her fingertips, almost tentatively hesitant in their sedate exploration. His own hand wandered along her side, dipping along the curve of her waist to the swell of her hip while the other hand fisted the spun silver of her locks in the gap between their faces.

The night caressed their naked bodies, moonlight the only illumination in the room. It made Fleur's skin glow as though a fire within her was calling out to the moon itself.

"I love you." The declaration was so delicately given that a single breeze could have blown it away. Instead, Harry grasped at it, cradling it to his heart. His fingers untwisted from her hair so that he could reach out and brush an itinerant tear from a lily-white cheek.

There were times when what they shared together as husband and wife squeezed them so tight that it wrung out all that they were. Every emotion, from the love they bottled up around others, all the stress of a difficult day, the worries for the future, or the happiness of friends and family. It all spilled out like paint upon the canvas of their bed as their bodies acted as brushes.

At rare moments that Harry treasured, like tonight, it became too much for Fleur, whose bewitching eyes would spill over as they physically expressed their ardour for one another. Driven speechless with her eyes wide and pink lips open, she would meet his gaze as he bent to kiss the errant tears away.

"Thank you," he shared, his voice gruff and throat constricted. "For sharing with me, for loving me."

She blinked rapidly, lashes fluttering. Her eyes opened and she swallowed thickly.

"You're so good to me," he breathed, leaning forward to press their bruised lips together. She leaned into the kiss, and a tender noise rumbled in her chest.

"Do you remember our first time?" She asked coyly after parting. A dangerous smile danced about her lips.

Harry groaned even as he grinned at her. "You'll never let me live that down, will you?" He asked uselessly, already knowing the answer.

"Never," she sang the syllables lightly, drawing them out.

"I've obviously gotten better since then," he muttered with false grumpiness. "I even move you to tears."

She flicked his nose. "You promised never to make fun of that," she said with puffed up indignation.

She looked so ridiculously adorable he had to kiss her again.

"I adore it and you, I swear," he said contritely against her mouth. Her tongue traced his lips in reply.

"You're a temptress," he mumbled, pulling away.

"I do more than simply tempt you, 'Arry." The way she pulled his name apart sent trembles prancing along his nerves.

He groaned and she smiled coquettishly at him.

They lay quietly for a time, basking in the presence of the other. The dark grew heavier and the air colder.

"You're so important to me," Harry stated lowly. His eyes sweeping his wife's resting face.

She surprised him by opening an eye, peeking up at him. "You show it well, husband. Especially since you'll let me pick out your outfit for tomorrow… right?" She asked with a mischievous smirk.

His brow furrowed and he grunted. "I feel like a dolly when you play dress-up with me."

She made an amused sound in her throat that turned into a chuckle. "And what a pretty thing you are."

"Just don't make me wear pink again, Ron still takes the piss from the last time."

His wife rolled her eyes. "It was salmon, you dunce."

"Pretty sure that is a pink." He responded resolutely.

"A _manly_ pink," Fleur amended.

Harry snorted.

"Fine," she agreed, "no pink."

He beamed victoriously at her. Perhaps a bit too smugly because her eyes narrowed.

"I recently bought you a shirt in a lovely pastel blue…"

Her words choked off as he attacked her sides in a relentless frenzy of tickling.

She shrieked and swatted him away. "No tickling!" She exclaimed even as she laughed.

The Potters stared at one another in shocked stillness before bursting out into immature giggles.

"You sounded so much like Fayette," Harry said between guffawing as he buried his face into the crook of Fleur's neck.

Her body shook with humour as her hand drifted up his back to stroke the dark hair at the nape of his neck.

"I miss them," she confessed after their mood calmed. "Silly, I know, since it has been only a day."

"No, not silly," Harry replied against her neck. "I miss them too."

They lay in quiet contemplation for a while before he spoke again. "We'll firecall them tomorrow, okay?"

His wife hummed her agreement before beginning to sing a soft lullaby. He listened contentedly to her voice, letting the weariness from the day melt from his body. The dulcet music and feathered touches of her hand through his hair cradled Harry soothingly to sleep.

She lay awake a while longer, watching her husband dream.


	6. A Matter of Masks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hello, thank you for reading my story. Please see my profile for information regarding canon compliance and a general timeline of my interconnected stories. While they are not necessary to read, my short stories add flavour and context.
> 
> Sincere gratitude must be given to LTCMDR Michal Drápalík, Luq797, Astro Hawthorne, DavidTheAthenai, WardenInTheNorth and all the other great people who gave up their time to edit my story in the Harry/Fleur discord.
> 
> I own none of the rights, nor make money, nor gain fame, or anything else from Harry Potter.
> 
> Cheers.

"Bloody hell, it's cold," Harry forced out through chattering teeth.

"We are in a Ukrainian forest in October. What did you expect?" Came Fleur's idle reply as they trudged through the ankle deep snow.

He glared at her. "You don't have to be so superior, you know; not all of us have natural insulation."

She tutted at him smugly, though she did reach out to grasp his hand. Her allure resonated to a higher frequency, causing warmth to suffuse up his arm from the point of contact.

He sighed. "Much better."

Their frost-filled arduous trek came to an end upon reaching the heart of the Carpathian Mountains. The change was instantaneous. He could feel the ancient wards swallow him as he took his first step into the elder forest.

The trees spreading before them seemed alive, thrumming with a slumbering energy, completely different from the mundane woods they had been traversing through.

"Do you feel that?" Fleur gently whispered. Her eyes shone as her teeth nibbled at her bottom lip. The plump pink flesh creasing around her white teeth.

Harry's mouth quirked fondly at the childlike awe his wife exuded.

"Yeah," he replied, his voice barely audible. It felt almost sacrilegious to break the silence of the snowscape.

The Potters stood, mittened hands clasped together before the ancient trees, soaking in the feel of the space around them. The world felt so small at that moment. As though everything had shrunk to only what their eyes could see through the gloom.

Snow fell against the dark wood. The air felt pure and even the cold he'd been complaining about became nearly mystical in its invigorating presence.

Without words, he and Fleur seemed to decide together to break their stillness; moving forward in tandem.

They didn't have much further to travel before blue light flickered ahead in the dark. They followed the beckoning flame, arriving in a small oval clearing ringed by tall trees and torches of azure fire.

Zlata was waiting for them. She wore a garb he had never seen before, covering only the parts of her body not bearing feathers. The silver plumage was flecked with black spots about her shoulders, upper chest, and arms. The odd garment acting as a sort of gown seemed made of gossamer or spider silk. Her golden hair was interspersed with downy quills and arranged in a striking fashion.

She was intimidating. Beautiful, exquisitely so, but primal, evocative… dangerous.

They stopped on the opposite side of the clearing awaiting her permission to enter the Aerie.

"Сестра, we welcome you." Her voice carried strongly across the space between them even though she barely spoke above a whisper. It was only then that Harry noticed Veela emerging from the blackness of the night all around them between the gaps of the torches and trees.

Fleur curtsied. "Mother," she intoned regally. "I thank you for your invitation."

"Even a wayward bird should return to the nest occasionally," the Veela elder replied.

Harry remained silent, knowing he, as a man, was not allowed to speak or react to anything said before he was personally asked a question. Fleur had drilled the rundown of traditional Veela etiquette into him during the day. She had mentioned how her family were considered fairly irregular as they didn't subscribe to much of their cultural dogma.

"And your husband?" He stayed still, waiting for his wife to introduce him formally.

"Harry Potter," Fleur announced. "Father to my two children, Fayette Eloise and Liliana Jaime."

Knowing his cue, he bowed low, doing his best to approximate a ninety-degree angle. It made his lower back hurt.

"Hmm," came the unimpressed reply. "Before he is allowed deeper into the Cтарий Aeire, I must ensure he can handle himself becomingly."

"Yes, Mother."

He straightened up and watched warily as Zlata morphed fully into her Veela state. Wings sprouted from her back and a long, heron-like, beak sprang from the area where her nose and mouth had resided. Harry was surprised at how different she appeared from the Veela form he was used to.

Her grey taloned feet were buried in the snow but still visible, and her piercing eyes kept him rooted to the spot. He could watch as her allure rose in frequency, the amalgamation of sound and magic pulsed across the clearing. The snow allowed him to track its progress as the frozen moisture jerked in unnatural patterns at its passage.

It reached him. And he felt nothing.

The woven band of platinum grew hot on his finger. A choice made in the snow. A forest much like this one bearing witness to his pledge.

To be courted by a Veela and to pluck a hair from her proffered head was an acceptance of her ardour, at its purest, most distilled state. She had bared her soul to him and his offering had to be just as significant.

His heart was hers, and hers alone forevermore.

Harry James Potter could love no other.

His feelings for friends and family was separate, distinct. It was an unromantic emotion unhindered and unchanged by that night in the frozen woods.

A steep price, perhaps. Some would even consider the magic with abject abhorrence. It was an understandable, if ignorant opinion. Such people wouldn't be worthy of a Veela's courtship regardless.

There was no bond or mark, no oath or pact. It was magic at its most elemental. A fusion of two distinct parts into one whole. The taking of old and the giving of new. A lonely melody becoming a duet. Even if Fleur were to die or leave him, his heart couldn't escape her hold.

After all these years, the earnest trust that compelled his decision remained unwavering. Just as he now did against the onslaught of the Veela elder's allure.

Occlumency could block out some of the effects, and there were some who had natural resistance, but none were wholly unaffected except for those who had taken the leap of faith as he did. His magic now vibrated at the same frequency as Fleur's leaving him immune to all but her own, constant, pull.

Heart, soul, magic. Nothing of him belonged to anyone but her.

He stood, tall and proud as the allure of the elder dissipated and died around him.

Zlata took her more human shape, shrinking down in size and with it the heat that emitted from her receded. He realized her garment was cut in such a way so that, even after transforming, it survived.

"Good," she said in that same resonant manner. Her lips were orange in the same color as her beak. He wondered if she always maintained this halfway form while here.

Fleur took his mittened hand once again for support. He looked down at his platinum-haired wife. Her cerulean eyes were aflame, her own lips a familiar yellow color. She had fluffy white earmuffs on and a rosy nose. A sky-blue down jacket and yellow mittens and snow boots. He ignored decorum and leaned down to kiss her.

Her breath was hot against his mouth, her lips hard and unyielding against his own even as she eagerly returned his affection.

They broke apart and were glad to see the Veela that had surrounded them had melted back into the trees, leaving them alone but for Zlata.

The elder gestured them forward.

"Not many Dance for their lovers anymore." Zlata's voice held no condemnation or even curiosity. It was devoid of judgment either for or against the ritualistic union.

"I don't blame them," Fleur responded. "It is a terrifying prospect to consider; to be rejected would be devastating."

"Mm."

Zlata turned as they reached her, gliding briskly over the melted snow at her feet. They followed behind her without complaint.

The same blue torches lit their way in irregular, intermittent intervals. Occasionally, Harry would spot a Veela in similar garb as their guide through the trees. But they would disappear soundlessly before he could perceive them fully.

He could understand why a Veela's partner would need to be immune to the allure here, with so many unbound Veela letting their allure loose, the uninitiated would be driven insane.

As they walked, the trees seemed to grow taller, wider, older. Hulking monstrosities of gnarled bark and bone-like branches reached out to the hollow sky. It was an eerie beauty reveling in a primeval state of purity.

"Do you know the history of the Veela?"

He glanced at Fleur who met his eyes but seemed just as unsure as he was.

The elder resolved their dilemma by addressing him fully. "Boy?"

"I've been told some, by my wife and mother-in-law."

"Ah, yes, Apolline. Her mother was a strong woman. It broke my heart to see her leave the Mantaritza Aeire in Bulgaria for the abandoned forest of Chaux."

"We tend the French forest well, Mother," Fleur interjected and Harry could tell she was trying hard to control her icy tone.

The elder stopped and turned. She eyed the younger Veela interestedly. "I'm sure," was her bland remark before continuing her forward movement.

As though the charged moment between the two women had not occurred, Zlata continued the earlier conversation.

"Veela are inheritors of the elder woods. Or, as the muggles call them, 'old-growth forests.' We were born to care for them. But they are dying. As are we."

Harry couldn't contain his shock, his step faltering. The irregular crunch of snow caused Zlata's head to turn slightly and pause. She moved on without mentioning it however.

"Few know this. There were never many of us to begin with but as our holts diminish so do we. Vinatovača in Serbia, Bialowieza in Belarus, Lopushna and Doupki–Djindjiritza in Bulgaria — our woodland of origin. They are all slowly being eroded away by time and muggles alike."

Harry's mind whirled at the implication.

"Your wife has told you of our connection to these forests, yes?"

His thoughts crashed to a jumbled halt in its attempt to respond to her quickly. "Yes. She has."

"She lied to you then."

He blinked. "I'm sorry?"

Fleur's hand tightened in his own but his eyes stayed riveted on Zlata's back.

"A lie of omission, perhaps. And not cruelly intended. We are secretive, you see. Even to those we trust the most."

They came to a stop before the biggest tree Harry had ever seen. It's trunk was akin to a rotunda, thick and stout. When he looked up, his eyes failed to see where the twisting limbs ended through the inky night.

Perhaps it was his imagination but the hum of his and Fleur's magic seemed to resonate with a beating pulse emanating from the wooden relic of a forgotten time.

"This is the most sacred denizen of our Aeire's forest." Zlata's voice was reverent; humble in a way he'd never heard from her.

The woman knelt in the snow before the tree and kissed the bark.

When she stood, she turned to the Potters.

"Veela are the descendants of a race no longer fully part of this world. Our mothers were the Samodiva. Now, they reside in a home only they can reach." Her hand came to rest upon the trunk beside her. "Through the trees."

"Mother," Fleur began uncertainly, only to be silenced by Zlata's raised hand.

"Millenia ago, when man first took axe to bark in virginal forests, they shook the Samodiva awake. Fearing for their passage to our plane being cut down they wove their magic together and lured a human deep into their woods. They laid with him, hoping to bring one into our world that could fully reside here, protecting the forest. But they could not beget a child."

Zlata paused, cocking her head. She made no secret of searching Harry for some weakness or inadequacy.

"Undaunted, they continued to try, eventually ensnaring a wizard whose magic reacted most marvelously to the Samodiva's spell. Finally, they were able to conceive. The daughter born from that union was Samodiva but different. They named her Vieltlya, or 'feathered one.' She was the first Veela."

Fleur shook next to him but not from the cold.

"We were born to care for the forests of our mothers who reside beyond this place but whose tethers remain here. It is why we have the power of fire, of course. To burn away what is no longer needed so that new life can sprout." As she spoke a blue flame, similar to the ones inhabiting the torches, flickered to life in her palm.

"Vieltlya tended the forest as she grew. Our rituals have not changed in all this time from our progenitors. When she came of age, she wandered from the forest and found a muggle settlement. She returned to her home, laden with child. It is from her womb many of us claim lineage. Other Samodiva in ancient forests began the practice as well and Aeires were formed."

The woman paused her story, the flame burning upon her palm spluttering out.

"You are the first non-Veela we have ever told of our origin."

Stunned, Harry nodded mutely before finding his voice. "I am honoured. But, I must ask, why me?"

"Do not believe yourself special." The rebuke was firm. "You are merely convenient." The woman glanced at Fleur speculatively. "As I said, we are a dying race, but intrigue has always surrounded us. We are secretive for the most part, even if the Bulgarian Aeires have a special relationship with their fellow magical society, we do not, here in Ukraine. Few leave their forests but to find a partner."

"Wayward birds," Fleur said with a slight edge.

"I do not judge you, Сестра. I do not hold with disdain those who abandon their roles here in the woods," Zlata chastised.

His wife nodded, somewhat subdued.

"Regardless," the woman continued, "due to our separation from larger magical society, certain unintended consequences have arisen. Many do not understand us or view us in a slanted fashion. It has never bothered us much, until now." Her eyes grew amused and it was so alarmingly conflicting with her personality Harry's adrenaline spiked.

"Your union has been quite… popular. There has been a disconcertingly large influx of literature depicting Veela, shall we say, crudely?"

Harry gulped but Fleur couldn't seem to help herself. Zlata's brow quirked at the younger woman's snort of disdain.

"They are ridiculous," Fleur objected heatedly, "but surely you can't blame us for them. We've had no hand in it."

"Directly, perhaps. But you are the most famous couple in the wizarding world, capable of even getting an unpopular Resolution attention in the ICW. You've inspired an interest in Veela affairs, intentionally or not."

"What would you have us do?" Fleur questioned irritably, her ire searing away the veneer of respect she'd been wearing throughout the night. "Even if we denounced them nothing will change. It would likely just conflagrate the issue."

"Calm yourself, Сестра," Zlata responded coolly. "You lash out without listening."

Fleur dipped her head in acquiescence.

"These… novels… are distasteful. They propagate the lowest version of our race, that of the seductress. The erotic, passionate, fool. They mock us. Writing of our subservience, our infidelious nature." As she spoke, she rose in height, unconsciously transitioning further in her frustration.

The snow around the elder melted into a pool at her feet as her allure turned the air hot and humid. Suddenly, it stopped, and she returned to the sombre, stately woman she typically was.

"Our traditions of secrecy and our Aeires' removed from magical society has allowed such putrid notions to take root," she continued. "Simply put, witches and wizards don't know much about us except what is popularized. I aim to change that."

Fleur cocked her head. "Is that why you told Harry of our origin? Why you brought us here?"

"Indeed," Zlata nodded, her stature and posture lending a mystical dignity to the gesture. "The elders fear that, as we die out, all that will be remembered of us will be the gossip and not our noble truth. We believe it time to step forward. To write our own story and hopefully leave our mark."

The woman frowned slightly. "I do not want our people to fade away and be viewed as little better than succubi. We have thousands of years of history. We claim ancestry from primal magic given form, yet to hear talk of us now… we are weak women who bind our souls to male wizards. Who revel in abject slavery, chained to an undeserving love by locks of our own forging. I will not have it."

"You are a proud woman," Fleur responded softly but with steely eyes. "And I do not disagree with your aspiration but I must warn you that even revealing our secrets, few minds will be changed."

"Perhaps," the elder conceded. "But some could be swayed. Just as your husband believes against the futility of this Resolution, I too, rebel against my people's purpose being corrupted."

"I have someone in mind," Harry asserted, breaking his silence. "Someone who could help write your tale."

Zlata looked at him in curiosity but Fleur shook her head.

"Luna can't do this, Harry. She is brilliant at folklore and detailing the nature of her subjects but won't have the patience for history." She chewed her fingernail in consternation. Her face brightened. "But perhaps she wouldn't have to do it alone." His wife met his eyes eagerly. "What if Padma helped?"

"Padma?" Harry questioned. "I don't know her that well."

His wife scoffed. "She's the new History of Magic professor at Hogwarts."

"Oh."

Fleur turned back to Zlata. "We have some people in mind that we can send your way. Friends. They will take the subject seriously and credibly. Regardless of if you choose them as the authors, we'll support whatever publication does come out."

The elder inclined her head gracefully. "Good."

"Can I ask," Harry began tentatively, "how this all started?" He rushed to explain when he saw the elder's confusion. "I understand the unfortunate popularization recently but even when I was in school I didn't hear… good things about Veela."

Zlata peered at him and sighed. "I expect not." She studied him before continuing. "The first wizard who 'found' our people was astounded by our charm and beauty. Upon leaving our forest, he claimed to have lain with the entire settlement. His bragging was our introduction to magical society. Even though the man was actually rebuffed with a fireball by the very first Veela he met. He ensured, with his singed pride, to taint us with his labels. The influx of interested _suitors_ we received afterwards and our defence of our homes cemented us as dark creatures."

Harry shook his head at a loss. "Well, damn," he muttered. "What an arse."

Zlata gave another flash of shocking amusement, her lips tugging upwards into a tight grin. "Quite," she agreed.

XXXXXXXX

After the evening in the старий forest with the Veela Aeire, Harry was feeling flat-footed about stepping back into the political arena. The night of mysticism and magic felt far removed from the political jockeying and barbs. He mentioned as much to Fleur who readily concurred with his sentiment. Although, it did not stop her from putting a dark green silk dress shirt up to his chest with a nod of satisfaction as she continued cobbling together his outfit for the ICW conference.

"I sent off an owl to Padma and Luna," he stated, watching as his wife flitted about their room.

"Good," came her distracted reply. "Zlata seems impatient to get started."

"I imagine she wants to coincide with the Resolution passing as closely as possible for maximum exposure."

Fleur blinked at him. "Hermione will make a politician of you yet," she mocked with a grin.

He frowned at her. "I'd rather do the Triwizard Tournament again. Blindfolded."

She laughed. "Are you telling me you don't have fond memories of the year you captured my attention?"

"Could have done without the dragons, is all," he grumbled under his breath.

Fleur tutted as she held a suit jacket side-by-side with a strapless gown. Seemingly pleased with the colour coordination, she placed them both on the bed before whisking off to find accessories.

"Wear the necklace I got you for our fifth anniversary," he called at her retreating form, his eyes firmly nestled on her swaying hips.

She glanced over her shoulder at him and smiled at his look of concentration. "If you insist, husband," she purred. With an extra swish in her step, she glided towards her jewellery box.

He walked over to settle behind her as she picked up the glittering ornament. He plucked it from her fingers and held it against her throat, which tinged red as they looked at one another in the vanity mirror.

Slowly and with deliberate motions, he clasped the lock in place at the nape of her neck before allowing the pendant to rest below her collarbones. It was a diamond studded north star that shone with a celestial glow, enchanted to shine brighter when the gift-giver thought of the wearer.

"Afraid of getting lost, mon cœur?" Fleur whispered with a teasing lilt to her voice.

"Just want to make sure I can always find my way back to you," he murmured, brushing his lips against the side of her neck in a sweeping motion. She shivered.

With a sigh, she raised her chin so her neck arched under his wandering mouth. A slender hand burrowed into his black locks, pressing his face tighter to her heated skin.

"If you don't stop," she said breathlessly, "we'll miss the whole conference."

"If that was supposed to deter me, you sorely miscalculated," he responded, nipping the succulent flesh of her neck.

She moaned even as she pushed him away. Her eyes, when they met his, were feral and molten. Her lips had taken on their yellow keratined form as she caught her breath. "You're a dangerous man, Mr Potter." Her tone light even as her inhales sounded slightly laboured still.

"A man on vacation with his wife, with no chicklets running around or intruding family? I believe my actions are rather normal."

"Two can play this game, my love." His wife's eyes narrowed. "Are you sure you want to go against me?"

He snorted, "if it results in you wearing that lacey-"

His voice cut off as Fleur's dressing gown hit the floor. She stood in her full glory with nothing covering her but his necklace adorning her slender throat.

Harry found he couldn't seem to close his mouth or jumpstart his brain.

Fleur raised a delicately sculpted eyebrow at him and quirked her lips. "Seems the lace is unnecessary."

"Uh."

"That's what I thought," she laughed, bending down to begin rolling up sheer stockings.

Harry stood there mutely for a while longer, simply watching his wife dress herself. He certainly didn't imagine the prolonged length it took her or the extra care she put into the act.

Her voice popped him from his dream-like state, her tone playful "My zipper, husband?"

With a shaky step he broke the distance between them so he could pull her dress closed. His reward was a kiss to his cheek and a pinch to his nose.

"Come, you must get dressed. You may ravish me tonight."

His eyes drank her form from head to toe. She wasn't dressed seductively but she was a seductive woman. Sensuality dripped off her as naturally as dew from grass. He groaned as she sashayed out of the room. No doubt making her timely retreat before he tried to make them late for the gathering.

He muttered mutinously as he dressed. Although he was glad he was able to avoid the insipid negotiations that took place throughout the day, the socials each evening were enough to drive him mad.

Their week was nearly done but serious issues had already begun to erode even the most common ground between Ministries. It had truly started when Hermione had made the difficult call to get Germany, France, and Poland on her side by promising to strike Egypt's provision of granting the Sphinx Being-ship within the Resolution.

Sharifa had been unamused. She had caught him that very night and flayed him verbally. Apparently, the heart of the Sphinx is used in a variety of arcane potions and they are being hunted by international poachers. Egypt has their own laws forbidding the hunting but they become powerless as soon as the villains take their prize out of the Ministry's borders.

The Egyptian representative had made it abundantly clear that without ICW cooperation, these poachers would be immune from prosecution and that Germany and Poland were some of the countries mainly responsible for the abhorrent behavior.

He had brought the subject up to Hermione who, properly horrified, had been trying to re-negotiate for the last two days.

It wasn't going well.

Harry sighed as he buttoned his cufflinks before giving himself a final once-over in the mirror. Acknowledging he looked suitably dressed, he left the bedroom already resigned that his wife would find a flaw or two to primp upon seeing him.

She was softly singing under her breath as she swayed at the kitchen counter of their little cottage. Her head tilted so she could look through the window at the cliffside and the Sea of Azov beyond it.

Unbidden, his hands reached out to rest upon her rocking hips. Fleur pressed her back to his chest and made a contented snuffle.

"Are you ready?" She asked after they stood together for some time, drinking in the undulating waters before them.

Truthfully, he wasn't. His body and mind rebelled at the thought of more slimy manoeuvering and leering gazes. Not to forget the inquisitive, meticulously crafted thorns his critics enjoyed deploying against him or his lady-love. Instead of expressing any of that, he just nodded slightly before resting his chin on Fleur's head.

"Then we best be off." Her tone also seemed laden with distaste and resignation though she did a much better job at hiding it.

She turned around in his arms so she could look over his outfit. She fiddled with his tie and tugged at his jacket until it was properly settled over his shoulders and chest before reaching up to tidy his hair. She smiled at him after her ministrations were complete, which he returned.

It was going to be a long night, Harry thought, as the Potters made their way outside the wards of the cottage so they could apparate to Oddessa. But at least it was their last.

XXXXXXXX

Harry watched as the American's Pukwudgie delegation got into a heated disagreement with Poland's Goblin representative. He couldn't make out what the cause of it was but he dearly hoped it didn't result in another brawl.

He sipped his drink thoughtfully as he surveyed the room. As the week has gone by an increasing amount of Being representatives had started to circulate without handlers. It had led to some pleasant exchanges and not so pleasant fisticuffs.

Apparently, many Beings didn't feel particularly benevolent to each other.

One of the worst was when England's Centaur representative, Firenze, got into an argument with Finland's Centaur, Tahvo, who also happened to be the Prince of a Thousand Herds.

Firenze had refused to explain what the disagreement had involved but Harry had distinctly overheard what sounded like constellations and planetary alignments during their shouting match so he doubted he'd understand anyway.

When Harry had personally met Tahvo, the Centaur had seemed gracious if rather haughty. The Prince wore a laurel crown and arrows made of gold gleamed within the quiver on his back, although he was not allowed access to his bow indoors. A slight he consistently decried.

Tahvo had thanked Harry for ensuring the Sentient Being Resolution did not extend rights for malignant, dark creatures like Hags. Although he did mutter about the inclusion of Vampires while casting a prejudiced eye towards Ormanno and Beatrisa, who had raised their suspiciously red wine-glasses in amused acknowledgement.

Harry could only nod while stamping down on the urge to rush to his Vampiric friend's defence. They had been boon companions the entire week and had never been anything but amicable and gracious to all who met them.

Truthfully, Harry had little knowledge about the Malignant Being provision Tahvo discussed. Hermione had quickly told him about it one evening as they rushed to the conference hall after a dinner had gone too long. Supposedly, it separated Sentient Beings like Centaurs and Goblins from the Malignant Beings out to do harm to humans. Beings whose sustenance were human children like Hags or the African Kishi that ate women.

Harry had tried to question Hermione about how that was different from integration but she'd shot him an evil, despairing look at his ignorance before launching into a tirade of nuanced philosophy that he tuned out of hurriedly. It was a moot point as far as he was concerned. He trusted her.

His perusal of the crowd was interrupted by a shrill voice to his left. He glanced over to find the source of the noise only for it to land on a woman he had not seen before. She was dressed rather garishly in out-dated but expensive dress robes. Her honey-brown hair was done up in a pile that was astounding in it's teetering height. Her eyes seemed to continuously shoot in his direction as she spoke, obviously trying to ascertain his attention.

Reflexively, his blood boiled at what her louder-than-necessary voice was discussing. She was practically shouting how disgusted she was by the half-breeds and creatures present. He hadn't experienced such bold hate outside of Armenia and Azerbaijan. Many delegates seemed to employ more subtle but no less revolting verbal barbs to get their point across.

Harry glared at the group surrounding the woman until a man nervously met his eye and flinched. The slight, thin man leaned in to whisper vehemently into the woman's ear and attempted to lead her away.

One individual broke off from the group and walked over to where Harry stood. He was the Turkish ambassador that had introduced himself on the second evening of the conference.

"Apologies, Mr Potter, sir. A delegate's wife seems to not share my country's sentiments. I assure you that I do not support her views."

Harry nodded solemnly. "I'm pleased to hear that. But I hope I don't have to hear _her_ for the rest of the evening."

The Turkish ambassador looked rather resigned instead of affronted like Harry thought he would be.

"I can't help but agree with you. Odious woman, truly." With a pained expression somewhere between a grin and a grimace the man inclined his head before turning and taking his leave.

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers, fighting the headache that was threatening to erupt. He heard heavy, familiar footsteps approach to his right.

"I don't know how you deal with this rubbish," he observed to the newcomer, not bothering to look up.

"You grow calluses like with anything." Mr Akingbade's deep baritone voice replied, settling beside him.

"That sounds miserable."

"It certainly is."

The two men stood for a while in easy silence as they looked about the hall. No one dared approach but they did receive a fair share of perplexed stares.

Harry observed the man to his right. He was a handsome, unbelievably youthful looking man for how old he truly was. His robes were a mesmerizing riot of oranges, reds, yellows, and browns all twisting together in a exotic pattern. His stature was sure, spine straight, chest out, and shoulders back.

Finally, Harry couldn't help his curiosity anymore and asked a question that had weighed on his mind since earlier in the week. "I don't want to be rude but, was your husband unable to come?"

The man glanced at Harry briefly before returning to sweep his gaze about the room facing forward.

"He can't leave Ireland."

"Ever?" Harry inquired, confused.

"Ever." Mr Akingbade agreed.

"Oh."

Silence returned before the Supreme Mugwump decided to elucidate. "Selkie's can't leave the ocean for long. Tied as they are to the place they are born. Rónán can shed his sealcoat for awhile but must return to his birth waters in time."

Digesting the information, Harry nodded. "So, you spend a lot of time in Ireland?"

"When I can, yes. He and I have many obligations."

"That must be difficult."

"Yes." Was the simple reply.

Harry fidgeted and Mr Akingbade huffed.

"There is more to a marriage than proximity, Mr Potter. I cherish the time I spend with Rónán but we both think of our respective jobs as our children. We support one another in pursuit of that fulfilment."

"I don't mean to suggest otherwise," Harry quickly interjected. "I just, well, know I'd miss my wife terribly."

"No offence was taken. Even I can admit the nature of my marriage to be slightly odd." The colourfully-garbed man rubbed his ring finger, conspicuously devoid of ornamentation. "But we are happy with what has been given to us."

Harry considered what Hermione had told him of Selkies after meeting Mr Akingbade that first day. Apparently, they were distantly related to the merpeople and merrows that populated the Black Lake at Hogwarts. However, the Irish Selkie was a different genus entirely. Supposedly, a Selkie Prince had met and fallen in love with a witch, who, unbeknownst to him, had only sought to get close to him so she could steal the secrets of their transformative magic. She had allegedly become the first animagus… and the Selkies had reviled 'cross-breeding' with wizards and witches ever since.

"I'm glad," Harry commented, mustering as much meaning as he could into the simple words. Hoping to give support in whatever small way he could.

"I had always wondered, before I met him, why an African wizard's animagus form was a porpoise of all things." Mr Akingbade turned his face to Harry, his usual blank, stoic countenance suddenly alive with an amused light. "Fate, perhaps, is not without a sense of humor."

Harry grinned in response.

"Good day, Mr Potter. Thank you again for your time this week. It was a pleasure to meet you and your lovely wife."

"Same to you, we've both appreciated your insight and help. You've been good to us."

With a slight inclination of his head, the Supreme Mugwump strode away, his robes flapping like a saharan sunset behind him.

Fleur returned from her conversation with their Italian friends with a wide grin.

He slipped his hand in hers as a greeting before kissing her joy-infused cheek.

"Mr Potter."

The stiff voice from behind made him sigh, knowing what was coming. Of course, his last day couldn't end on a high note. He turned to greet the Egyptian Minister, immediately taking note that Yosef was not around to mediate.

"The European bloc voted down my offered provision for Sphinx protection," Sharifa stated, her eyes aglow.

Harry shuffled uncomfortably, fighting the urge to scratch the back of his head. Instead, he tightened his hold on his wife's hand who had gone rigid next to him.

"I'm sorry," he answered truthfully. "Hermione did the best she could, honestly. The other Ministries just wouldn't budge."

The woman gazed at him unblinkingly and he felt small and foolish. Fleur dug her nails slightly into the palm of his hand she was holding and he straightened his spine in response.

"I hope you will continue to support the Resolution itself," he continued determinedly. "I know it isn't perfect but it will open the door for protections further down the line. Next session we can introduce a Resolution to the floor requiring all Ministries respect the regulations of others regarding Magical Beasts and Beings."

"The Sphinx is our Ministry's emblem, Mr Potter," Sharifa explained. "They gave the first Eyptian staff-crafters instructions on how to imbue magical properties and even gave them fur from their tails to act as cores. This served as the archetype for you European wizards and your wands." Her eyes turned hard and her mouth tightened. "Yet, for all their import to the history of wizarding kind they will remain nothing more than beasts to be slaughtered. Their bodies left to rot in the sand while the poachers take their hearts for profit."

"I'm not any happier about it than you," he began but was cut off by a sharp swipe of Sharifa's hand.

"I don't care about what makes you happy, Mr Potter. I care about an endangered Sentient Being that is my nation's treasure. You failed to deliver on the protections I asked for, why then, should I care for your Resolution at all?"

Blood roared in his ears and his pulse quickened. "Because it is the right bloody thing to do," he snapped venomously. "You know it is. Don't stand there in vexation and act as though I am the enemy here. I am on your side. Take your sharp tongue and make those who voted against you bleed but leave me out of it. My wife and I have done nothing to inspire your ire."

Fleur moved slightly forward and with a clever twist of her shoulder put herself between him and Sharifa. "Minister, we do apologize for how this turned out. We will do everything in our power to rectify the situation, even putting our name on any separate Resolution you attempt to pass regarding Sphinx protections. But please, don't make a scene."

The group of three's eyes roved about their vicinity surreptitiously, noticing the interested looks sliding their way. The Egpyptian woman nodded her chin subtly before her eyes drifted back to Harry's.

"You have a point, Mr Potter. My irritation is not solely directed at you. However, the promise of your name means little to me now. We shall have to see how tarnished it becomes after the passage of this Resolution, in whatever abominable state it will be in." The woman's dark eyes flickered over to Hirene and her menacing entourage.

Her implication was not lost to him. "You need not worry about them," he bit out. "They want this more than anyone."

"But once they get it, will they remain so well-behaved?" Shariffa questioned shrewdly. "Don't forget that Mrs Volkov has subjugated most of Eurasia through claw and fang. She is hardly the diplomatic type."

"I choose to trust in the good of _people_ ," Harry said, stressing the word. "She is doing what she perceives best for the safety and security of her kind. Just as you are doing for the Being important to you."

Sharifa stared at him intently for a moment before inclining her head and raising the goblet gripped in her white-knuckled hand. "A toast then. To optimism… and friendship." She leaned in closer to the Potters. "I'll vote for your Resolution but I will expect you to keep your promise." Her tone was hard and eyes stony.

Harry nodded and she moved away.

"Good," she said. An ounce of cheer infusing her voice once more. "I'll expect you at the next ICW conference as my personal guests to advocate for me." Her eyes swept between Harry and Fleur. Seeing no argument from either party she gave them a nod of farewell and swept off.

"Damn." Harry muttered, rubbing his jaw.

"Indeed," Fleur murmured before turning to face him fully. "I'm frustrated with how this turned out and despair over coming to another conference but it is the right thing to do."

He nodded sullenly then perked up with a wry grin. "On the upside, if this Resolution destroys our credibility like she seems to think maybe she won't want us anywhere near her proposal next year."

His wife snorted delicately. "Yes, truly something to hope for."

Just as they resolved to make their way over to the refreshment table a voice spoke from behind them. It was a feeble, nervous sound that was out-of-place in the hall full of larger-than-life personalities. The Potters turned to inspect the odd newcomer.

It was the woman Hermione had pointed out to them earlier in the week. Harry scratched his brain, trying to remember her name but came up blank.

Fleur, however, stepped forward and bid the scarred individual welcome. "Hello, Ms Kurkjian, it is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance."

The woman jumped slightly at being addressed but smiled back nervously all the same. "Yes, thank you. Lovely to meet you," she replied, the translation charm buzzing harshly in Harry's ear. "I wondered if I might have a moment," she asked, eyes darting between the two Potters.

"Of course," Fleur resolved, inclining her head.

"Oh, and please, call me Naba. Hearing my last name..." The trailed off morosely but seemed to relax as she spoke, a soft but sad smile gracing her torn face.

"I've been hoping to speak to you since my friend brought you up," Harry interjected truthfully. "But…" he paused, unsure how to broach the subject.

"But my handlers have been keeping a close eye on me, you mean?" Her one eye twinkled. "Yes, they've not let me out of their sight for long."

He gulped, trying not to allow his focus to wander to the tattered hole that remained on the left side of her face where a second bright, brown eye should be residing.

Naba chortled. "You can look, you know," she said indecorously. "I make these eye jokes for a reason."

He sheepishly nodded, wincing at being caught.

His wife sighed. "We'd be fascinated to hear your story," she supplied kindly. "Hermione only told us the barest details but we wonder how you came to be an ally to our cause in such an inhospitable environment."

The woman nodded her head rapidly, seeming to come into her own the more dialogue was had. "I'd be willing to share but I feel I should caution you. It isn't a tale meant for polite company or fancy socializing."

"Perfect," Fleur replied. "We've had enough of that for one evening."

Naba smiled. "Well, I've been a member of the Equalist International Party for, oh, eight years or so now? My husband and three sons were involved too. We'd go and do little protests at the Armenian Ministry over the Werewolf regulations and whatnot. Small stuff."

She took a shaky breath as her gaze turned inward. "Well, we hadn't made many friends, you see. Our house was burned down in what was considered an accident but my husband suspected was arson. So, we moved out to the countryside and away from wizarding society. But that was where roving feral packs roamed."

The woman's nine fingers twined together in front of her as she relayed her story in a mechanical fashion. As though reciting it distantly. "Woke up one night to find my youngest son gone. We searched frantically for him, everywhere we could. He was only thirteen and couldn't have gone far without magic. We asked the Ministry for help but our names were unpopular and we didn't receive anything more than a token investigation."

She let out a breath before continuing in a hollow tone. "We found him next month, on the full moon. He was brought to us by a feral band of werewolves. They had kidnapped him and were returning so he'd change in front of us. He-he…" her voice choked to a stop and her body seized in an alarming way. Suddenly, her eye became wild and wide as she looked at Harry beseechingly. As though begging him to understand. A sour, leaden weight resided in the pit of his stomach. He felt sick as she turned frantic.

"He didn't have a choice, you know. Surely, you do, that werewolves, that… that first change. They can't control themselves. Not at all. Arpiar didn't know what he was doing, he was always such a sweet boy. Never got in any scrape like boys usually do…" She went silent as she looked past their huddled group, seeing a grisly scene stamped into her memory.

"We couldn't do anything. Not to sweet, little Arpiar. He changed. Killed his brothers first." Her voice was hollow, mechanical. Her gaze distant. "My husband cried as he died. They left after I was mauled. We were all sure I'd die. I didn't."

Her mind seemed to return to the present as she gave them a watery smile. "I buried my family and looked for my son. The Ministry found the feral pack first and put them all down. Now, I go around and tell my story. I want to show my Armenian brothers and sisters that we can let go of the past. We don't have to keep killing each other."

Her story made Harry feel like he had eaten nails. They gouged and slashed his insides to ribbons and he drew in a ragged breath past his desiccated lungs. "My heart goes out for your loss. I am so, so astounded at your strength to continue on. Thank you," he stated resolutely.

Fleur also whispered her admiration and Naba thanked them for their consideration.

"When I heard about the conference, I petitioned the ICW directly to be afforded the opportunity to come. To my joy, it was granted and Armenia had little choice but to bring me along. Though, they've made their displeasure clear several times."

"We are glad to have you here, and to meet you," Harry remarked. "Have you had the chance to talk to everyone you've wanted to?"

Naba shook her head. "No, I… well, I wanted to speak to Mrs Volkov but Abbas or someone else usually intercepts me."

"Well," he said thoughtfully, "how about I introduce you now?"

"Abbas has kept his distance since Mr Akingbade pulled him aside that third day after his repeated comments," Fleur explained as they began walking. "He will likely not trouble you if you're with us."

"Thank you," Nabba declared. "This is perfect."

The group of three made their way over to Hirene's collective, who eyed them interestedly. Barry waved excitedly.

As every occasion before, Harry and Fleur stopped outside an imagined perimeter to allow the Werewolf leader the opportunity to wave them forward.

Said woman rolled her eyes at their final approach. "You really don't have to do that every time," she insisted exasperatedly.

"It's common courtesy," Fleur alleged with a small smile.

"I'm not one for ceremony, birdie," Hirene retorted.

Harry swallowed a laugh at the women's exchange. Nabba seemed frozen at his side.

"Ah, isn't this smashing?" Barry exclaimed. "Always a delight, Mrs Potter. You look lovely as always, of course. And Mr Potter, as well. Thank you again for that restaurant recommendation, I was terrified I wouldn't be able to find a suitable place for our anniversary out here. They even had a great selection of vegan options!"

"I'm relieved you enjoyed it," Harry responded with a grin. The excitable muggle never failed to make him smile from his sheer outpouring of exuberance.

Hirene grunted. "It was fine, I suppose. My steak was rare enough but they put a bunch of plants and shit on it for whatever reason."

"Those are called garnishments, I believe," Fleur observed with a smirk.

"Fancy frenchie," the Werewolf muttered under her breath but loud enough for the group to hear.

"Don't listen to her," Barry said around his toothy grin. "She loved it. Even wore a dress! Can you believe it, a dress!" The man adjusted his bowtie with a pleased expression on his face until he noticed his petite wife glaring balefully up at him.

"I thought I made it clear never to mention that." The woman growled.

He gulped and nervously smiled down at her. "Sorry dear, you just looked so positively angelic I couldn't help myself." His apology seemed to mollify Hirene because she looked away sharply and grumbled some indiscernible words as her ear tips turned pink.

She stomped her booted feet and turned once again to face the Potters before addressing the addition to their posse. "Gonna introduce us or what?" Her tone petulant and demeanour standoffish from what Harry expected was embarrassment.

"Yes, this is Nabba Kurkjian. She's from-"

"Armenia," Hirene interrupted. "I know your story." The flat yellow eyes of the woman evaluated the person in front of her. "You've done some good for the packs there. I thank you."

"It is an honor to meet you, Mrs Volkov," Nabba replied, bowing her head respectfully. "The Armenian packs eagerly await the day you unite the continent."

The Pack Leader grunted. "Hard to do when your ministry won't let me enter the country. Kill on sight order for any foreign wolf."

"My Ministry fears what a strong figurehead could mean."

"I take it they aren't just worried about a revolution?"

"No, though they fear that too. They don't want the packs to unite and move for political rights. It is why they are fighting so vehemently against England's Resolution."

"Typical," Hirene snarled.

"But that is what we're here for, right?" Barry observed worriedly, his hand reaching out to brush against his mate's. Harry wondered if the Pack Leader disallowed obvious physical expressions of love so she wouldn't appear weak.

"The Resolution might pass," Fleur interjected cooly, "but the situation won't necessarily resolve. The ICW rarely interferes in a nation's affairs outside of the Statute of Secrecy or the Wizarding Wars. Most of the Resolution is non-binding, just getting the framework built has been extraordinarily difficult."

"The incremental steps of change," Hirene spat distastefully.

"No, they're right," Barry commented. "There may not be many enforcement mechanisms yet but the provision allowing for an international coalition to monitor Sentient Being rights is important!" He looked down soulfully at his wife. "Don't give up, they need you."

Hirene waved off his concerns. "You know I'm not. But I find the whole process arduous and stupid." Her steely gaze centred on Harry. "I'll choose to trust this method for now. But if things get worse in Armenia and Azerbaijan…" Her wolfish expression gave little doubt to what she hinted.

"Then let us hope it doesn't come to that," Fleur asserted, her eyes flashing. "That is just what they want. It could tear down everything we accomplish here."

"Don't you dare lecture me," Hirene snapped. "I have the lives of tens of thousands of Werewolves upon my shoulders. Play nice with the bigots all you want but I won't watch my people continue to be slaughtered or forced to live like pigs."

"This is bigger than just you and your kind," Fleur uttered heatedly. "The stakes are higher than ever. Don't fall for their trap. They know they can't beat us here and now so they will instead try and provoke us into a violent reaction. If we give in to our baser instincts they win."

"They can celebrate right up until I rip their throat out," Hirene snarled undeterred.

Harry mustered every authoritative impetus in his body before taking a step forward, drawing attention to himself so his words would be heard clearly. "This isn't the time or place," he said firmly, sweeping his gaze back and forth between his wife and the Pack Leader. "We can cross that bridge when we come to it but for now we must remain united. The Resolution has not yet passed and any chink in our armour will be exploited."

"Harry is right," came the surprisingly stiff voice of Barry. "Like it or not we have to be on our best behaviour. We shouldn't squabble." His sudden bravery gave way to nervousness as he fiddled with his bowtie and blushed, looking down at his wife's wide-eyed expression. "I just don't want us to fight," he mumbled.

The lanky man's wife reached up to ruffle his hair affectionately albeit briefly. "My husband is a pacifist." Hirene said without turning to look at them. "Admittedly, his integration into the magical world has been… hairier than the typical muggle. And his views don't always align with the way of the Packs but he is correct now." The woman glanced at Fleur. "We've chosen interesting men, haven't we?"

Fleur nodded with a smile, sending the artfully placed locks of platinum hair framing her face bouncing. "Good men," she agreed.

Barry blushed at the compliment and shuffled his feet. Harry stared at him in amusement, recognizing his own nervous tick.

"I will do everything in my power to ensure the situation for the Werewolves doesn't get worse in Armenia," Nabba offered, rejoining the conversation. She seemed confident and capable in that moment, to the point even Hirene nodded with grudging respect.

"I believe you," came the Werewolf's reply. The woman looked around at the assembled group. "Together then. We will get this Resolution passed and face what comes next."

"Agreed," Fleur said, holding out her hand.

The Pack Leader looked at it askance before spitting into her palm and clasping their hands together.

Fleur didn't flinch, just shook once before turning to make her exit. Harry nodded at the group before following his wife. Nabba, he noticed, stayed behind to continue her discussion with Hirene.

They didn't make it far before being interrupted in their flight.

"You two look exhausted," came the song-like voice of his mother-in-law. He turned to the side just as Fleur stepped into her mama's embrace.

"It has been a long week," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "Thank you again for taking the time to come."

"Think nothing of it, my dear. Though, if you don't mind, I'd like to steal my daughter away for a moment." The apologetic expression on Apolline's face made Harry laugh.

"No permission necessary," he responded.

"Lovely," was her reply. "Don't worry though, I won't leave you all alone to fend for yourself." Harry turned so he could follow her eyes that had settled on something past his shoulder.

"Matisse!" He called out delightedly.

"My boy!" The portly man answered in a similarly buoyant fashion. The two men grabbing their arms together before pulling into a one-armed hug.

"Papa," Fleur cried before kissing both of his cheeks in greeting. "It is so good to see you, Mama said you had work."

"I did," he affirmed distastefully, "and it was horrible." The clouds hanging about his features cleared and the man brightened considerably. "But I am here now and ready to lend my political expertise to you both."

"On the last night?" Harry observed smirking. "How fortunate we are."

"Hush. Be grateful, you ruffian."

"Well, we shall leave you men to your own devices," Apolline declared with a demure smile before pulling her daughter away. Fleur tossed a grin over her shoulder at them as she waltzed alongside her mother.

The two men watched their ladies walk away with goofy smiles on their face. Comfortable camaraderie filling the void of words.

Matisse turned and smacked Harry on the shoulder boyishly to grab his attention.

"So, has it started for you yet?"

"What?" Harry asked, caught off-guard. "Has what started?"

Matisse glanced at him. "Have people started looking at you and Fleur strangely?"

Harry scratched his head, "no more than usual, I guess. Why?"

The Frenchman shook his head, grinning. "Not like that." Humming, the man took a sip of his wine and blanched. "Maybe it would be easier to explain a different way. Just look at Apolline over there. She is a beautiful woman, yes?"

He smirked at his father-in-law, "I'm not sure if your bragging or this is some sort of trap."

"Bastard," Matisse responded affectionately. Sobering, he gestured at Apolline. "My wife barely passes for a thirty-five year old woman. While I am a rapidly aging man with a growing gut."

Harry rolled his eyes. "You are hardly as portly as you lament yourself to be." A sly smile stole across his face, "besides, we've all heard the pet names Apolline calls you. She seems to like your... full figure."

He barked out in shocked delight at Matisse's red-tinted cheeks. The man scowled and muttered some unflattering opinions about Englishmen and barnyard animals.

Harry chuckled.

"If you're done being a, what's the English word…"

"Ponce," Harry supplied helpfully.

"Yes, ponce. Now quiet or I won't let you marry my daughter."

"A little late for that."

"I know, just like to remind you that I allowed it."

Harry shook his head, flicking a bead of water from his glass at the older gentleman. "Carry on," he commanded.

"What I'm trying to ask is if people have said anything about your ages yet? Like at that muggle school, for instance, "Matisse questioned.

Harry rubbed his forehead ruefully, "yeah, there has been muttering here and there. When people realize Fleur has a seven-year-old daughter and doesn't look over twenty-three."

Matisse nodded sagely. "Exactly."

"What's the big deal, people talk about us all the time. Usually, the context is worse too. Especially here."

"I don't care too much about what others will say, as I know you are used to that. Consider this more a warning for yourself." At Harry's befuddled expression, Matisse continued. "Veela are left largely untouched from the physical burden of aging. Apolline's mother still looked elegant and lovely when she passed. You, however, will not."

Suddenly unsure and feeling a tad apprehensive, Harry jerked his head to prompt his father-in-law on.

"We will look our age, while they never shall. Assuredly, they won't be as spry as what their youthful beauty would suggest. They will slow down and tire the same as us. However," Matisse carefully met Harry's eyes, "their charming physicality will remain. And we have to live with it."

"You make living with an eternally beautiful woman sound like a curse," Harry said with some strain, trying to inject levity into the odd discussion.

"It is not really, nor would I make it out to be one." Matisse nodded approvingly, "you already know what I mean, don't you?"

"Yes. I do."

"Good. My advice is to not compare yourself to her. At the end of the day, she is Veela, you are human. It can get lost sometimes, in our endeavours to treat them with the normality they crave. But they are more than the women we fell in love with."

Matisse eyed Harry thoughtfully. "You trust Fleur, yes?"

"With all that I am."

"Do you doubt the love she holds for you?"

"I wouldn't insult her by thinking such a thing."

Matisse smiled. "Stay that way Harry. Men are vain creatures, though we hate to admit it. Don't let poisonous insecurity blind you from the obvious."

"It won't be easy," Harry confessed, "I've felt inadequate many times next to her before. But I'll continue to trust in the vows she gave me, even as I grow old and grey."

"See that you do." Matisse grinned, "but I'd suggest that you don't stop working out lest you become like me. No need to make it harder on yourself."

"Is there a reason you're bringing this up now?"

"My wife informed me of your visit to the Veela Aeire in the Carpathian Mountains. I assumed it was an eye-opening experience."

"It was." Harry agreed.

"Plus," Matisse grinned roguishly at him, "I figured any conversation would be better than more political nonsense."

Harry clinked his goblet against the man's wineglass in agreement. "I knew I wanted you around for a reason."

XXXXXXXX

He gave a loud groan as Fleur kneaded his back. Harry was lying facedown on their cottage's bed with his angelic wife straddling his hips as her small hands worked wonders upon his tense muscles.

"You really shouldn't have snuck out to compete in the Steinstossen," Fleur admonished as her fists dug into his shoulderblades.

"That Swiss arsehole kept flexing his muscles at you all week, I had to teach him his place," he moaned out.

"This is why you shouldn't drink with my father," she sighed. "He always gets you into trouble."

"Aren't you the least bit proud of me for humbling that pompous idiot?"

He didn't have to see his wife to know she was rolling her eyes. But the slightly too hard push on a sore spot made her feelings clear regardless.

"Oh yes, dear. Thank you ever so much for defending my honour. What would I do without you, my big strong man?" Fleur mocked in a high, exaggeratedly girl voice.

"Ok, ok," Harry grumbled, "enough of that. You've made your point."

"Men." The way the word rolled off her tongue made it sound nothing like a compliment.

"I did it out of love," Harry explained. "That has to count for something."

"A lovestruck oaf is still an oaf."

"Name calling isn't nice. What would the girls think if they realized their mother was such a hypocrite?"

"Stop while you're behind," his wife warned.

Wisely, he chose to remain silent.

The massage continued for a while longer before he rolled to the side and gave a luxurious stretch. "Thanks, love," he remarked with a grin. "You spoil me."

"I expect reciprocity," was her dry remark.

"Get comfortable then, I won't fight against putting my hands on you."

Fleur lay upon her stomach, her bare back glowing in the candlelit. She snorted and turned her face, a single mischievous eye peering up at him. "I suspect the legend of the insatiable Veela really comes from their ridiculously randy husbands."

"Sticks and stones," Harry sang as he began his work on the inviting expanse of pale skin before him.

They relaxed in silence for a time before Fleur voiced something that had been on both their minds since the end of the gathering.

"Do you think it will pass?"

Harry stilled only briefly before continuing. "I do."

"You don't sound certain."

"No, I trust it will pass," he responded calmly. "But I think I've come to accept it won't be at all what I'd hoped."

"Hmm," came Fleur's drowsy reply.

Hermione and the English delegation was going to stay behind for the rest of the conference. The Resolution had been debated on the floor for around five days now with no end in sight. Many provisions had been added and dropped from the original proposal. Some good and some bad. It was barely recognizable from the original.

As the week had gone by and Hermione's frantic explanations for why she had chosen to do this or that had made Harry realize a stark truth.

The whole process was utter shite.

Most of the nights he came back to the cottage feeling grimy, as though he had spent hours wading through sludge. In some ways, he thought that the most accurate depiction of the conference gatherings.

Many had been starstruck by the Potters. It had also led to an international history lesson he was embarrassed to learn.

Apparently, the Wizarding War was far bigger than he'd assumed. Purebloods across Eurasia had taken Voldemort's rise as an opportunity and begun their own crusades. England may have suffered with the rise of Voldemort but he became an icon for supremacists everywhere. With his demise, many regimes lost the symbol of their strength and their political power slipped away. Other nation's weren't so lucky and still suffered under what amounted to a dictatorship or a pureblood Council of Lords.

Apolline and Hermione had patiently explained that Harry Potter was a name that resounded throughout all of the world and not just England. It made him want to bury his head in the sand.

Regardless of the reason, he had been inundated with people wanting to make his acquaintance. His novelty had worn off, however, when he questioned his fan's stance on the Sentient Being Resolution.

If being a show-pony that quickly lost its lustre wasn't bad enough, the purebloods, creature-ists, and individuals who simply hated him were present in abundance.

They had made their thoughts known often and cruelly.

Though, at the same time, he couldn't help but be amazed and indelibly proud at how Fleur had never wavered or wilted under such vile attacks. With her head held high and stylish rebuffs she had made a powerful impression. He adored her strength and force of will.

Late at night, though, when it was just the two of them, he could see how it wore at her. She was not invincible, of course. She had grown tough out of necessity. He had spent many hours preening her ruffled state each night, trying in whatever small way he could to support her.

Under his hands, feathers bloomed. He continued rubbing her shoulders even as she softly snored. He gazed down at the woman he'd given himself to and smiled.

The week had been difficult and taxing. But they had borne the hardship together and come out better for it. He couldn't help but feel as though he had grown up. Been forced to jettison his naive hope that the Resolution would fix the ills of the world.

Harry bent down and pressed his lips to the cheek of his slumbering wife. She mumbled affectionately in response and nestled further into the cushiony mattress.

But maybe, just maybe, the work they did this week would mean something. Someday.

With a wave of his wand, he extinguished the candles and slipped alongside Fleur, who turned over in her sleep. A delicate hand reached out to touch his chest and her lips curved upwards.

He stayed up for a few hours; quietly watching the rise and fall of Fleur's chest as she breathed.

XXXXXXXX

It had been a gruelling few weeks back home. The girls had been exceedingly clingy after going so long without their parents, not that he could complain considering how terribly he had missed them. But it had meant sleepless nights due to two snoring chicklets who rolled between their parents throughout the night.

Upon arriving home, Ron had told him that no further incidents had taken place and assigned the wards back over to Harry's wand. It was a comforting notion, especially when he received word from his solicitor that Barnabas had been successfully ousted from his position at the Daily Prophet. With him imbued with the Glawkus Compound, his daughter's locations would be safe.

Although, he had received far worse news given by Lili upon seeing him. Hogsthorpe was holding a Halloween Party.

He sighed, trudging up the stairs of his family's home. He had dreaded this night for weeks. It had nothing to do with spending time with his family and he felt prickling shame at being so irritable over an event Lili was so ecstatic about but… Halloween wasn't easy for him.

With a sigh, he reached the landing and headed towards Fayette's room. He peered in through the crack of the door to see Lili energetically chattering to her little sister.

Fayette was festooned as a bumblebee. She wore a beret with swirling antennas upon her golden head and a slightly puffy black and yellow striped costume upon her tiny body. Flimsy wings hung behind her with a slight droop and a perky stinger swayed upon her felt-covered bottom.

Harry felt pathetic about how unbelievably adorable he found her. He couldn't help but grin as he remembered the constant bickering Fayette was embroiled in with her mother over her costume.

Fleur was determined that her daughter be a cute bumblebee.

Fayette insisted she was a wasp.

Liliana, on the other hand, was serious about her deer costume being perfect. She had kept her mother busy in the mirror drawing and re-drawing a nose and markings with makeup on her petite face. She wore a headband in her silver hair with fluffy ears and spindly antlers.

She looked heartbreakingly like her mother at times, with her face scrunched in concentration as she tidied her costume or arranged her hair just right.

Supposedly, Lili and Jasmine had conspired to dress as woodland critters together. A rabbit and a deer to be exact, but Harry wasn't exactly sure why that combination. Regardless, his wife had taken to it excitedly.

"Are you ready girls?" Harry asked, opening the door wider and revealing himself to his daughters.

Lili beamed at him, "Yes, Papa. I am."

Fayette sniffled and asked if she was a wasp or a bee.

He looked behind him briefly to check if the coast was clear before leaning forward to kiss her on the nose. With a wink, he took her side.

Striding away, he briefly wondered what his costume was going to be. Fleur had been rather secretive about it and he couldn't help but have some trepidation about what awaited him.

Opening the bedroom door he stumbled to a halt.

"What the hell are you?" Harry winced at the words that unthinkingly smashed out of his mouth.

Fleur rose an eyebrow and he quickly amended himself.

"You are radiant, my love. I was just surprised, is all, he finished weakly.

His wife strolled her way towards him.

"I am one of the dames blanches, mon cœur," she whispered, placing a white-laced hand on his chest. Harry worried she'd be able to feel the rapid thrumming of his heart. She smirked. "To pass this way, you must first dance with me, traveller."

Harry quickly tried to pull up every scrap of information his wife had mentioned regarding the French folktale.

A lazy flick of her wand caused the record player sitting on a small table in the room's corner to smoothly slide into motion. The needle fell down gently on the revolving vinyl. A melancholic French ballad began to be sung breathlessly as Fleur raised a hand, an eyebrow curved expectantly. With a small step forward Harry slid into a familiar position.

As they danced, he could feel the tender caress of her allure raising goosebumps along his skin where it brushed.

He led his wife from their joined hands, lightly guiding her by a soft pull or gentle pressure. Harry no longer had to watch his feet; being able to let his gaze lavish Fleur while dancing had been a potent motivator.

His wife's hand always felt so delicate and his so brutish in comparison. The small bones and slender fingers were deceptive, however. He could feel the callouses on her fingertips, brushing against the back of his hand. Her grip – sure and strong – assured him his lead was a willing surrender, even as his hand dwarfed hers.

A twirl sent the spun silver of her hair flying, strands floating like gossamer.

One step, two, closer, shift, back step, turn, and dip. A saucy smile pierced him from below. A swift brushing of lips seamlessly woven into the pull upwards and dance's continuation. The palm on the swell of her hip felt hot, the nerves hyper-aware. He felt every twist of her waist, not a single rocking undulation missing the pulse of the music.

Her white-blond hair, wild and loose, filled the air as Harry led her through increasingly indulgent dance figures. Her bouncing curls caught the muted lamplight in their room, becoming a flowing river of burnished pearl. Harry felt engulfed. Her usually straight hair had been teased into luscious spirals that framed her face and body. The sleek, silky crown he was accustomed to replaced with sultry tresses.

In that moment, Harry knew he would break the Statute of Secrecy tonight.

Three minutes would be his limit before the hexes started flying. Especially Greg. The bloody teacher seemed wholly incapable of directing his eyes anywhere other than Fleur's curves.

Harry resolved to floo Neville. Although, whether he wanted his friend to keep him in check or help with the cover-up, he couldn't decide.

Dazed at the herculean task ahead of him, he didn't notice when the song ended until a chuckling Fleur tapped him on the nose. His befuddled eyes met her knowing ones. "You shouldn't make such a face while dancing with a lady, monsieur," she trilled.

Smoothing the grimace on his face fairly successfully, Harry pinched one of her platinum curls between his thumb and forefinger. "Rotten seductress more like," he muttered ruefully. "You'll be the folly of every man there tonight," he continued archly. His light tone caused Fleur's lips to quirk upwards.

Her laugh chimed out as she crossed over to their bedroom door. "I shall be the downfall of only one man," she declared, sweeping her arms up dramatically and sending the white sleeves of her gown swinging. Her grin faded as her arms fell back to her side. Tilting her head slightly to the side she pierced Harry with a look that promised fire and sweat. "After all… a single dance is not enough for this dame blanche to find her release," she purred before gliding out the door with a wink.

Harry swore, loudly and colourfully, before stomping out the room, tying in vain to put a stopper on baser urges.

XXXXXXXX

The Potters arrived a few minutes after the Halloween gathering was set to being. Lili had been impatient to arrive on time but Fayette had thrown a spectacular temper tantrum in their Skegness home.

"Wasp!" She had declared with all the force her little body could muster.

"You are a bee, Fayette Eloise. Don't you want to be a pretty bumblebee?" Fleur had questioned in exasperation.

"No!"

It had taken some time before her anger had dissipated and she could be calmed down enough for company.

Fleur had flicked his ear afterwards for just watching in amusement from the sidelines, as he leaned against the doorframe.

"You could have helped me."

"It seemed like you had it under control," he'd responded while fighting a smile.

Fleur had been about to reply when Fayette piped up behind her.

"Daddy said I was a wasp!"

His heart stopped. Sweat broke out on the back of his neck and he felt the sudden urge to flee.

Fleur's eyes narrowed.

"Did he now?" Her voice serrated and deadly.

"Kids," he joked nervously, "they say the strangest things."

"So do weak fathers," was Fleur's ominous reply.

Now Fayette was riding atop his shoulders as they filed into the Hogsthorpe's gymnasium.

A woman Harry didn't recognize came up and cooed over the 'sweet little bumblebee.'

Fayette pouted thunderously, her arms tightly folded in front of her chest just like she'd seen her mother do.

She mumbled something about using her stinger.

"Don't worry, dewdrop," Harry said, "I imagine you'll get over tonight tolerably. Given a year or two."

Fleur chuckled beside him.

Already she was drawing attention. The gown of the White Lady she wore reached all the way to the floor, and it wasn't indecently tight. None of that seemed to matter though. She was magnetically beautiful regardless.

"Bollocks," Harry muttered as Greg came sliding up next to them.

"Hello, Ms Evans," the man said, intentionally using the incorrect honorific like the toad he was.

Thankfully, Fleur seemed just as tired of the man's charade as her husband was. "Missus," she announced forcefully, giving him a firm look.

Harry could have done a jig.

The man looked properly abashed and ran a hand through the stylishly combed hair on his head. Unfortunately for him, that movement didn't do the gelled mop any favours. He was a handsome-enough man, with thick hair and a strong jaw. But his simpering smile and wandering eye was off-putting not just to the Potters, or so Prisha claimed.

"Lili has been doing wonderfully in her classes," Greg started again, seeking safer waters. "Top of her class."

"Lovely," Fleur replied, pulling Liliana in front of her, resting her hands on the girl's shoulders. "We are very proud of her."

The man gave an oily grin.

Harry cleared his throat, making the man jump slightly.

"Oh, yes, of course. Mr Evans, pleasure to see you." Lili's teacher greeted, proffering a hand.

Harry took it briefly but released it as soon as was polite.

"Well, perhaps I can show you all around the different booths," Greg started to offer only to be interrupted by a more welcome arrival.

"Lili!" Came a jubilant shout as what appeared to be a grey rabbit with flouncy ears shot by them to hug his daughter.

Jasmine grinned happily at her friend before the two girls launched into varied compliments of one another's costumes.

"Harry, Fleur," came Prisha's polite voice from their left. She was not in costume but wore an appropriately coloured orange and black sari.

"Prisha," Harry said with relief, his eyes widening comically to show his distress at Greg's presence.

The elderly woman hid a wry smile behind her raised hand.

The two families had grown closer since the start of the term, pulled together as they were by children who were all but attached at the hip. Many playdates had been held at either family's home and even a few out on the town.

"Greggory," the matronly woman greeted formally as she neared the huddled group.

He mumbled some approximation of hello and made his retreat. Harry raised his eyebrow in wonderment at Prisha.

"Some day, you have to tell me how you do that," he said in an awed tone.

"Practice," was her mischievous reply, hugging Fleur as a hello.

"You look astounding," Prisha complimented, eyeing the white lace and silk gown.

"Thank you."

"But I fear you will be the talk of the town."

"I assumed it was a fool's errand to attempt otherwise."

"Probably," the elderly woman admitted. "So I'm glad you decided to throw it in all these harpies faces."

"Prisha!" Fleur exclaimed in shocked glee before leaning close and whispering between giggles something undoubtedly wicked in her friend's ear.

Both women dissolved into laughter and hushed conversation.

Harry decided it best he didn't know what they were concocting and looked elsewhere.

The gymnasium had been decorated with paper cutouts, some done by students he'd wager, and the floor was filled with orange and black balloons along with booths for simple games. Families milled about the room in informal masses. Laugher occasionally punctuated the polite conversation humming through the air.

He could feel the eyes slipping over his family.

A hand tugged on his sleeve and he looked down.

"Papa? Can we go play a game?" Lili asked courteously.

"Of course, moonbeam, I'll take you both." He moved Fayette off his shoulders and transitioned her to Fleur's waiting arms. He kissed the side of his wife's face before escorting the young girls to the first booth.

He kept a slight distance away but watched them closely as they played. He wanted to give his daughter time with her friend without him hovering over her shoulder.

A quick glance showed his wife was fending off interested parties, both gossiping women and lecherous men. He sighed in resignation. At least Prisha was there to run interference. She didn't seem terribly popular for whatever reason with the Skegness community and didn't shy away from using her barbed tongue judiciously.

He turned around only to accidentally meet the eyes of the woman he'd hoped in vain wouldn't be in attendance. She made her way over to him.

"Hello Olivia," he greeted neutrally.

She sent a white, wide smile his way.

"Good to see you again, Mr Evans," she replied charmingly. The young mother was dressed as a duchess, wig and all. Her corset was arranged to draw the eye, the decolletage sitting snugly over her chest. Her powder blue gown billowed out at her feet and she had a beauty mark affixed to her face.

Harry couldn't help but remember Ormanno and Beatrisa in muggle theatre clothes.

"You look charming," the woman mentioned and he had to gulp back a chortle at his fond memories of the vampire couple.

He looked down at himself, dressed as an unwary traveller of medieval France. Buckled grey trousers and a tucked, green blouse. A foolish sword even swung at his hip. He pulled at his jerkin uncomfortably before thanking her.

Feeling obligated he complimented her own attire, to which she blushed.

"Thank you, I'd hoped you'd like it."

He felt that was a bit forward but decided to ignore it and turn back to watch his daughter and her friend play.

"She looks darling," Olivia tittered, gesturing to Lili.

"Yes, she does," he agreed easily. Once again, he wondered about the woman's motivation. Why did she seem so interested in his family?

Deciding to investigate, Harry smiled at her before asking his question.

"Is your husband around? I don't think we've met."

The woman's expression immediately became guarded. "No. He was, ahem, called away on business."

"Ah," Harry commented dryly. Dead end.

"Is your son around?" He tried again.

She waved her hand about airily. "Oh, he is about here somewhere. Off with his pals you know."

He scratched the back of his head. "Right," he muttered, "kids being kids."

"What was that?" She asked inquisitively.

"Nothing," he gave her a game smile. "Just thinking out loud."

He turned around only to find Headmistress McKinney beside him.

"Mr Evans," she intoned.

Inclining his head he returned her pleasantry, feeling a bit of relief at another person's presence.

"I'm glad to see you two have put that nastiness behind you," the serious woman continued. "Lili especially, Mr Evans, seems to be thriving in class."

"She really enjoys it," he mentioned.

"My son always talks about how smart your daughter is," Olivia interjected. He had some trouble believing the boy did anything of the sort. However, he decided to take the compliment for what it was worth and expressed his gratitude.

Luckily the three were interrupted from further inane conversation by the arrival of his wife, who it seemed had finally decided to flee the centre of attention. Though it appeared the attention had only followed her.

Harry fought against the scowl that rose to his face at the men who watched his wife's passage with fixed interest.

"Evening Headmistress," Fleur said brightly before turning to Olivia.

"Hello, I don't think we've met," she said, holding out a hand. Her blue eyes twinkled naughtily. She knew exactly who Oliva was.

The women exchanged compliments over one another's costumes. Harry wondered if it was common for ladies to consistently try to one-up the other's kind observations of one another but quickly discarded the notion. He'd never seen the Weasleys or Delacours partake in any such nonsense.

At that moment, Prisha arrived with Fayette munching a cookie in her arms.

"There now," the woman said, "told you Mama and Papa were right over here."

"Daddy," Fayette squealed, reaching out her crumb-covered hands in obvious expectation.

Without care for his clothes he claimed her from the older woman.

Fleur muttered under her breath and swiped away some debris from his jerkin.

Looking up, he noticed both the Headmistress and Olivia had seemingly disappeared. Shrugging he turned his attention back to the new arrivals who seemed to be resting in the harbour of his deterring presence.

"-bunch of louts," Fleur declared irritably. "In front of my own daughter too."

Prisha made a noise of agreement before leaning towards Harry and whispering conspiratorially. "So, what did Mrs Ansley want?"

He grimaced. "No idea, I've never been able to figure out what she wants. Every conversation between us is only ever awkward."

Prisha waggled her eyebrows ludicrously at his wife, who erupted into tinkering laughter.

Fleur reached up to pinch his cheek. "She wants what she can't have."

"Huh?"

Prisha let out a gusty breath. "It is common knowledge that her husband is an unkind man. I think she's… jealous, let's say, about how good you are with your daughters."

"Oh," he said mollified. He felt slightly abashed, perhaps he needed to be kinder towards the unhappy woman in the future.

"Don't say it like that," Fleur admonished Prisha. "My husband is rather obtuse about these sorts of things, you'll only make him feel sorry for her."

"I resent that," Harry contended. He was ignored as the women continued their indecipherable dialogue.

He watched his wife and her newfound friend laugh and joke and turned to watch his daughter do the same.

Veela and human. Witch and muggle. Never before had the divide between it all seemed so very small. Or so very foolish.

XXXXXXXX

The school day had been passing at an excruciatingly slow pace. Simply put, Harry was bored. All of the household chores had been completed and he even had a nice stew simmering for dinner.

The excitement of the conference had long since atrophied and now he was firmly entrenched in the droll undertaking of waiting for his eldest daughter to return from school each day. His youngest was a flurry of energy but required frequent napping, leaving him to his own devices after her spurts of activity petered out.

With a grumble, he launched himself to his feet as his wand made a familiar ringing noise in his ear. The damn wards around the school had been triggered. He grumbled to himself about sending every reporter in England to Azkaban as he strode out his front door. Luckily, Andromeda was watching Fayette today. She had gotten lonely with Teddy at Hogwarts so he'd loaned his excitable daughter to her pseudo-grandaunt for company.

With a twisted pop, Harry arrived at the alleyway and made his way hurriedly down the passage. His mind mulled over the ramifications of this new breach. A second reporter meant his problems ran deeper than the Daily Prophet, he would likely need to heed Fleur's advice now and pull Lili out. It just wasn't worth it to have her education consistently interrupted or her location compromised by ruddy journalists.

He emerged out into the street with a bustling step.

The light was odd. It had been an overcast sky when he had left his home but his face was instantly hit with a strange brightness as soon as he strode out of his apparition point for emergencies.

Orange, red, and yellow flickered upon a grey haze that filled the air, casting monstrous shadows about the block. He coughed after inhaling. His lungs filled with smoke.

His eyes widened, thoughts ground to a halt. The heart in his chest gave a painful stutter.

The school was aflame.

In that moment, the world ended.


	7. Riptide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, thank you for reading my story. Please see my profile for information regarding canon compliance and a general timeline of my interconnected stories. While they are not necessary to read, my short stories add flavour and context.
> 
> Sincere gratitude must be given to LTCMDR Michal Drápalík, Luq797, DavidTheAthenai, WardenInTheNorth, EMP, and all the other great people who gave up their time to edit my story in the Harry/Fleur discord.
> 
> I own none of the rights, nor make money, nor gain fame, or anything else from Harry Potter.
> 
> Cheers

The school is burning. The thought rang indistinctly in a hollow head.

Children ran in chaotic droves, adults screamed, sirens blared, and smoke billowed.

The school is burning.

One step forward. Two.

Mind jammed, throat clenched, a strange sort of wordless suffocation overtakes him while nerveless fingers grasp at nothing.

A small body ricocheted off a leg robotically moving forward.

The school is burning.

The thought unjams. A flood of adrenaline. Fingers clenched around a wand vibrating with restless energy. Senses sharpened, blood hummed.

Harry moved.

Muscle memory, training, and experience flushed the spiralling emotion out of him; occlumency barriers snapping into place reflexively.

Calm.

An ocean of it. Stretching without end as his consciousness bobbed in the water. But beneath his paddling feet, he can't help but sense a primal fear. A foreboding dread of what swims just underneath.

The wards are blaring, their riotous noise causing a distant flicker of annoyance to brush against the erected shields in his mind. With a swipe of his wand the warning magically sounding in his ears abruptly ends.

Harry quickly brought his wrist to his face, having to squint to make out the face of the watch Mr Weasley had gifted him the day Liliana was born. The green hand spun wildly, never settling on a single spot for more than a second. He grimaced and dread curdled in his gut, someone had put up enchantments designed to restrict magical communication of any kind, undoubtedly an attempt to keep the Ministry from responding promptly.

He knew he had a decision to make. Casting an anti-apparition ward may stop the perpetrators from getting away but would grind to a halt Magical Law Enforcement's assistance to the muggles. It was readily apparent that muggle fire-fighters would have little luck against a magical blaze and a quick Homenum Revelio spell showed multiple people still stuck inside the burning school.

Swearing venomously, Harry decided to use a more archaic signal. The Locator spell arced high into the air, not dissimilar to a muggle flare. Once it passed the wards, it would appear on the Ministry radar. The Magical Law Enforcement Patrol that held jurisdiction over Skegness would arrive shortly but not fast enough to catch whoever was here. He would have to act as first responder.

Steeling himself and casting fire retardant spells on his person, he entered the Academy's back entrance.

Childish art lined the wall, paper projects posted by tiny classroom doors. It had been a lovely place, Harry thought idly as he sprinted towards the closest revealed person. Ignoring the fire greedily licking away the posters hanging next to him, Harry banished the door, revealing his daughter's classroom.

From the corner of Harry's eyes came a swirl of black and silver. A flash. Aching knees. An arm jerked out an answering flash. The dull thud of a body hitting the floor. Panting.

Knees bloodied from skidding along the floor, Harry stood.

Slow. He'd gotten far too slow.

A sharp, half-turn cleared the immediate surroundings. A sickly yellow light emanated from the body of the black-cloaked, silver masked figure laying on the ground, catching Harry's eye. The glow seemed amorphous, bubbling out from the person's belly before boiling over. A revoltingly sweet smell filled the air and the figure's entire torso was no more.

Harry stood stock-still, incredulity pulsing from beyond his cold consciousness. He cast a notice-me-not spell and a few muggle-repellent charms on the remains before moving further into the classroom. The Homenum Revelio spell would illuminate where individuals were but alerted wizards to his presence, but the spell did not differentiate between child and assailant. He would have to go one by one to the rooms he detected a presence in, ready to fight.

A huge gout of flame burst out of the classroom to his right, nearly searing him before being repulsed by his wand. He didn't have much time before the building burned down. He needed to hurry.

He made his way deeper into the building, a bubble-head charm quickly cast kept his lungs clear from the thick smoke. It was Harry's muscle memory from Auror training rather than his vision that caused him to crash to the side, just as a bolt of jagged green light sped by him.

A door over his left shoulder burst open to reveal another black-cloaked wizard who shot an unstable stunner at Harry's back. Not having enough time to turn, Harry dropped to the ground, rolling to the side and sending solid red stunners out to smack his assailant in the chest. The wizard crumbled to the ground just as Harry summoned a desk from the open classroom next to him to crash in the way of the second bolt of green light arcing towards him.

The desk exploded, wooden shrapnel splintering across Harry's skin. Licking the blood from his cut lip, he gauged the angle of the two spells sent down the hallway and shot out his own repertoire.

This foe was far more skilled than the two that came before them, Harry's spells were swatted to the side before a bevy of curses began pouring towards Harry's location. Rolling to the side, he barely made it away from the onslaught.

Bright spellight glowed briefly before being smothered by the thick smoke becoming denser by the second. Whoever was at the end of the hallway was gathering smoke to cover their presence.

A yellow light glowed from behind him right as another spell ripped through the smog, this time directly down the middle of the hallway. That confirmed it, his attacker wasn't sure of his location either.

A memory preceded a jolt of movement, summoning the unconscious man's wand to his hand, Harry forced the stick to use a simple household charm before chucking it down the hall. The slim piece of wood arced through the air, its tip siphoning smoke from the surroundings. As it clattered to the floor, the haze at the end of the hall began to condense and be pulled towards the ground. A glimpse was all he needed, shooting a spell out towards his target.

A swiftly cast shielding charm was not strong enough to completely stop the cutting curse. It sliced through the unfinished defences but dulled before hitting the ankle of Harry's foe. He had meant to cut off a foot but instead all he managed was to create a weeping gash.

The man swore loudly.

Harry froze momentarily, but just long enough that he had to frantically guard against a tidal wave of curses and jinxes sent against him. As the last spell dissipated, Harry bolted towards the end of the hall, skidding around the corner but the man was gone.

Antonin Dolohov was gone.

Biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, Harry turned and made his way to the fourth and final presence revealed on his initial scan.

With a huff, he heaved open the closet door that had been wedged closed. A small huddled form sat trembling inside, sniffled cries reaching his ears. He knew this girl.

As soon as she recognized him, she launched forwards. Her tears turned to bawling cries as her hands reached out to him, scrabbling for purchase on his shirt.

He lifted Jasmine into his arms.

"Please Mr Evans help me, please," she sobbed against his neck, the begging plea repeated over and over like a prayer.

"What happened to Lili, Jasmine? Where is she?" The words were firm but filled with terror. The answer could break him. Four people, the spell had revealed. Only those who still breathed.

Jasmine continued crying and Harry handled her unceremoniously until she was forced to meet his eyes.

"Where is Lili?"

The girl heaved a blubbered sob. She sniffed.

"She vanished. We-we were walking down the hall when Lili's necklace started to shake and glow. She panicked and grabbed me by the wrist. She pulled me into the closet and said to hide bu-but a man in a mask appeared and yelled at her. Before the door shut I saw her disappear. She was just there, Mr Evans, I swear she was but then she was gone. I'm-I'm so sorry." The girl's cries began in earnest then and Harry instinctively patted her back placatingly while his mind raced.

Vanished. Gone.

The glacier of his chest cracked.

Detachedly, Harry watched his body shudder in relief from behind the placid waters of his mental barriers.

Lili's automatic emergency portkey had worked. Fleur, George, and Hermione had endeavoured tirelessly to create them for each child, an ingeniously innovative enchanted portkey that could be keyed into protective enchantments to detect hostility. As soon as truly malicious intent was directed towards Lili she would be whisked away back home, whose own wards would eject any passengers.

Right now, she would be confused and likely scared, sitting in her room back at home. Harry started as his watch vibrated against his wrist. The enchantment to disallow magical communication must have faded, meaning its caster had left.

He checked the watch, which showed the green hand finally resting at 'Home.' A shaky wand tapped his trembling instrument to acknowledge that he had seen the shift in her location caused by the portkey. Just as he did so, Harry watched as Fleur's blue watch-hand travelled between the 'work' designation to 'home.' The locket she wore, her only regular piece of jewellery, would have informed her of the ward's activation.

Harry breathed. In and out. He clutched the girl to his chest and moved, he still needed to get her out.

In her shock, the young girl hadn't noticed the bubble on Harry's head but now that she was calming, he could feel the look of wondered bafflement on her face. That focus changed as he cast one so that she could breathe properly. The smoke and fire were spreading rapidly. Hogsthorpe would be lucky to still be standing when the flames petered out.

Upon exiting the school, he made his way over to the car park where the muggles had gathered. A perimeter had been established by emergency workers, but a smaller bubble had been claimed by people he recognised.

Kingsley Shaklebolt himself stood towering above the heads of the other Ministry workers who flitted about like worker bees. Healers rushed towards Harry and tried to pry the girl out of his arms but he held fast, making his way to the Minister.

"Dolohov."

Kingsley nodded in affirmation, reaching up to grip Harry's shoulder. It was tight and strong. The pain and force of it sharpened the senses dulled by relief.

The Minister began barking orders, leaving Harry alone.

He bent down and kneeled, allowing Jasmine to stand on her own feet. She was clutching her arm at an awkward angle and, as he cast diagnostic charms on her, he sucked in a breath. Reaching forward he gently pulled her arm away so he could inspect the damage.

Charred skin in the shape of a tiny handprint was wrapped around the girl's wrist.

She watched wide-eyed as he got to work repairing the damage with healing spells he'd been taught on the force. He didn't want any Healer to see. He didn't want questions or accusations. He was tired. Tired of it all.

Harry just wanted to go home.

The Ministry began its obligatory sweep, school teachers and children had their memories wiped, while the muggles that watcheda fire eat away the primary school were given a light mass-compulsion charm.

He gave his report to Kingsley and Terry Boot, an Auror he had joined with. They asked questions and he robotically answered. Through it all, a little girl clung to him like a lifeline.

When the Obliviators came he brushed them off. She was scared and shaking. Silent. Watching the procession of magic with an unseeing gaze. Trauma. A curse magic could not heal, even with Obliviation, the physiological reactions would remain but she'd find no answers, no cause. The first friend his daughter had made outside her own family; she was his responsibility.

It was over quickly and she slumbered peacefully when he returned her to Prisha, who stood along with other muggle families about the school perimeter. She gave him a blank look, still under the effects of the compulsion charm. Even so, he thanked her and her daughter before leaving.

He was resolved. Every single trace of the Potters would be erased from Skegness.

XXXXXXXX

Fleur was waiting for him when he arrived.

He closed the front door behind him as she stood from the yellow loveseat she so favoured. They stood silently, watching one another for a time. Harry took a step forward and so did she. The stillness broken, they quickly closed the gap between them, their arms linking around one another tight enough to hurt.

"Are you alright?" she asked, her voice controlled but brittle.

The question was born of folly and laced with vacuity. It was hollow, a phrase uttered with no conscious thought. A platitude meant to die uselessly on the plains between the world that was before and the hell that was now.

He did not bother to answer, only drew her closer to him and buried his sooty face into the dreams of Fleur's hair.

They swayed softly for a time, the closeness acting as a balm. An ambrosia acting as a mocking reprieve. When Harry spoke, his voice was dry and harsh, and with it came reality.

"Kingsley thinks it was a Ministry official. Some desk jockey in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes was doing regular sweeps in his jurisdiction when Lili's bout of accidental magic happened. He investigated the blip and, instead of reporting it, sold the information to Barnabas Cuffe at the Daily Prophet when he learned it involved Lili. He hadn't shown up for work the last three days. He was found dead in his apartment this morning."

"Lili?" His voice came out strained and taunt like piano wires stretched thin.

Fleur kissed his cheek tenderly in reply. "She is asleep. When I arrived, her...hysteria gave way shortly to exhaustion." Her eyes betrayed the truth. She was protecting him from the truth, the full extent of Lili's panic.

Bile rose in his throat as blood pumped like shattered glass through desiccated veins. This was his fault. Death Eaters had attacked his daughter because of his past. The thin veneer of safety, the illusion of a life past war crumbled to dust.

The sins of the father, he lamented.

Fleur seemed to sense the change in him for she held him closer. "Go see her," she whispered.

"Fayette?"

"Andromeda offered to keep her. For tonight, to give us time."

Harry nodded as he disentangled from her arms.

He tried to ignore the burning gaze of her as he trudged his way upstairs.

"Jasmine?" From the way the name left her lips Harry could tell she was afraid, but resolved to hear his reply.

He paused on the landing. "The burn on her wrist was treated but the scar will remain. Otherwise, she's fine."

"Her memory?"

His silence was the only answer he gave.

The door to Lili's room opened soundlessly, allowing him to slip in without worry of waking her. His daughter was curled into a tight ball at the corner of her bed. The sight hurt. Her posture was rigid and afraid, even in the escape of sleep. The difference between her typical sloppy, splayed position gapingly obvious.

He reached out a hand to caress her crown but his limb trembled midway. The sight of ash and red, irritated skin caught his eye and turned his stomach. He pulled his hand back to drip uselessly at his side.

He made his way out of her room as quietly as he came in.

The heat of the shower beat his muscles into submission. Steam billowed around him and for a short time, he focused on a task rather than let his thoughts drift. He scrubbed his skin until his body stung. He still didn't feel clean.

Slipping on faded pyjamas he ambled out of his bedroom. Hushed voices caught his attention and he crept towards the sliver of light peeking from a cracked open door.

"Where's daddy?"

His lungs collapsed inward at Lili's fractured voice.

"He's home, moonbeam. Once he's done cleaning up he'll come see you now that you're awake."

"Is Jasmine okay?" She sounded so small, so different from the grown-up she tried to be. A little girl desperately wanting to be her mother.

"Yes, she is."

"When can I see her again? Mama, I know I did bad but please don't make me leave. I'll do better, I promise." Desperate pleading, innocent and naive.

Harry slumped against the wall outside her room, sliding down to the ground. He crooked his knees out in front of him as he listened to Fleur soothe their daughter.

Impotent and helpless he sat, hating himself for being unable to face his daughter. His eyes felt hot but no tears came. Would she hate him, he wondered, when she learned the truth? The memories she made with a friend who'd never remember her?

The school would be rebuilt and the children were safe but something irreplaceable had been lost to the blaze.

A gown of feathers had been burnt to ash.

XXXXXXXX

Later that night, as Fleur joined him in their bedroom, she released a question that had wiggled beneath his skin all evening. It was no easier to hear her speak it aloud.

"What are we going to do about her schooling?" Fleur questioned, the tips of her hair being rolled into a ball by nervous digits. "She has to finish the year."

"We can take Andromeda up on her offer. She homeschooled Teddy all the way to Hogwarts."

"She needs friends," Fleur started, but paused as he lunged to his feet. He began pacing as she began again. "Jasmine was good for her, you saw how excited she was. She was happy."

"It isn't safe, Fleur. She doesn't need muggle friends." His tone was tight and clipped. A closed door with no key.

She shook her head. "No, she needs to know that she can make friends outside of her family or she'll-"

"Or she'll what, Fleur? She has her cousins. That will be enough."

"She'll be like me."

His furious stride stilled and his head slowly rotated towards his wife. She sat primly upon the edge of the sofa but something about the slope of her shoulders seemed diminutive. It was not often her self-assuredness cracked and it snagged his attention immediately.

Fleur seemed to come to some sort of resolve because her chin rose and she met his gaze. "Lili will grow up unsure of herself. She will be dependent on family and will never allow herself to branch out. To change and grow."

Harry stepped towards her, sinking down to his knees so he could grasp her hands in his own. "She would be lucky to be like you."

"No, 'Arry. She wouldn't." Blue eyes turned misty and distant as she recalled her childhood and adolescence. "You know how I struggled. Who I became. The prideful, angry, fragile girl who had but two friends to my name. Friends only because they were outcasts as well. I became cold, never allowing myself to take chances. To _try_. I assumed the world was my enemy and treated it as such."

His wife's expression hardened as she refocused on him. "Would you want that for her? To be convinced that the only ones that love her are those bound to her as family? No." Fleur shook her head distastefully. "I will not allow it."

Harry's jaw clenched and his grip tightened. "I won't allow her to be put in danger."

"Stop hiding behind your fear," was her curt reply. Her oceanic eyes sharpened to a knife's edge. "She is safe. She will be safe. The enchantments worked-"

"But what if they don't next time? What if they figure out how to block the enchantments or disrupt the wards?" He scoffed. "You'd risk that for her to make muggle friends she will have to leave behind in a few years?"

The seas froze over and narrowed. "Don't minimize my point or play the fool. You know more is at stake. We are talking about her ability to form connections, to be exposed to other people and walks of life. To find herself. These years are important, 'Arry. They will help form the woman she will become."

"I don't want to have this conversation."

"And I don't want to put it off."

The two glared at one another before Harry's shoulders slumped. "Please, just… just let me think. Let Andromeda take her for the rest of this term at least."

Fleur gave him a critical once-over before nodding sharply. "I won't drop this conversation, but I'll admit tonight is not the night to have it." Her eyes softened and she gave a weak smile. "She blames herself, you know? She… she's scared 'Arry. Not just of the masked men, but because she burned her friend. She cried as she told me how Jasmine jerked and screamed."

Her mouth hardened into a thin line before continuing. "I won't allow that to be her last memory of friendship until Hogwarts. She can't be allowed to become afraid of herself or her heritage. It will ruin her."

The walls felt as though they were collapsing inward. The ceiling shrunk until it brushed his head. The air atrophied and his palms grew slick with sweat. A strange claustrophobia set in and Harry felt small. So very small. Like a boy in a cupboard with spiders for friends.

"She'll be safe," he repeated but the words gnawed on his tongue, filling his mouth with copper and regret. His split lip throbbed to the beat of his heart.

"She'll be caged."

Harry had nothing to say. No wisdom or rebuttal, no witticism or exclamation. Just a mouth full of blood and a phantom sense of familiarity.

Terror and love, was there even a difference?

XXXXXXXX

His arm reached out and pulled the squirming body of his eldest daughter to his chest. He buried his nose in her hair, inhaling the cedar and sandcherry scent that belonged to her alone.

Lili had tiptoed into the bedroom after only ten minutes, slipping under the covers of her parents' bed and burrowing between them.

After a time, she began to softly snore.

The night was dark, the moon and stars obscured by clouds resolute on keeping their illumination at bay. A terrible, sweeping fear crept over him as he lay trembling. For even in the dark, colours spasmed across his vision. Noise assaulted his ears and explosions rocked his bones.

A familiar, unforgotten dread was dredged up from the depths of his soul. Like vines it snaked over his legs and torso, pulling him down, down, _down_. His muscles locked up, leaving him paralyzed. He couldn't struggle, couldn't fight. Couldn't breathe. His eyes roved wildly, seeking some sort of anchor.

"'Arry," the cool, calm voice washed over him. A winter's river, shocking but soothing in the numbness it afforded. With a gasp, his lungs expanded and muscles reacted, unclenching in a spasm. A gentle hand cupped his hot cheek. A thumb brushed his skin tenderly.

The world splintered and focused on the tactile sensation. He breathed.

"Too tight," Liliana grumbled. Smooshed as she was against his chest, her voice sent vibrations through to his heart. His arms loosened but refused to relinquish their hold entirely on her.

With a slight adjustment, she nestled against him further and, sighing, began to fall back asleep.

He panted as the cold night air chilled the perspiration that had broken out over his body.

Blue.

As though carried to sea by the river that'd cleansed him with a word. Now he locked on with a desperation to the eyes that glittered in the all-consuming void of night.

Unblinkingly, he stared into the ocean of her eyes, convinced beyond reason that to look away would send him careening back to drown in the sludge pervading his mind and strangling his heart.

He leaned into her touch and the stroking of her calloused thumb, the warm weight of her wedding ring.

"Shh," she quieted him. Her dulcet tone wrapping about him. "It's okay. You're okay."

The stampeding heart in his chest slowed, the beating pulse in his head abated, and his body unlocked from the squeezing ball he'd curled into around his daughter.

Harry and Fleur watched one another, their eyes tracing the planes of their partner's face in the gloom around them.

In that moment, nothing else existed. A glorious absence of all things but three. The safety of his wife's eyes. The heartbeat of his daughter, rhythmically pounding against his own. And the puffs of air that escaped from her lips vibrating against his chest.

It was a long time before Fleur fell asleep. The fingers of morning stretched through the curtained window when it finally came for Harry.

XXXXXXXX

Morning came bright and cheerful as though mocking the dismal events of the day prior. Harry had dragged himself out of bed before his family had awoken but couldn't find it in himself to begin breakfast. Instead, he sipped cold tea listlessly on Fleur's yellow loveseat.

The fireplace flared, signalling a floo request. He hadn't bothered lifting the restriction from last night and considered ignoring it now. But, he knew that the only people who even had access to his floo in the first place would not be deterred by being kept out in such a way. Undoubtedly, they would apparate to his home in short order.

With an errant wave, he lifted the enchantment. Immediately, the fireplace disgorged its passenger, who promptly fell to the floor in a tangle of limbs.

Untidy turquoise hair and dark green eyes, like his father. The green brightened to an emerald shade upon meeting Harry's surprised gaze.

"Harry!" The young boy called excitedly, rushing to his feet and clumsily making his way to Harry's perch atop the couch.

"Teddy?" He questioned, "what are you doing here? What about school?"

"McGonagall, er, Headmistress, said I could come home for a couple days because of what happened." At this admission, the boy's hair turned a pallid white while he twisted his fingers anxiously in front of him. "Is everyone okay? Lili, Fay? Mu- uhm, Fleur?"

Harry reached out and plucked Teddy from the ground, depositing his godson against his side. He ruffled the boy's hair affectionately. "Yes, everyone is safe," he responded. "It's good to see you."

Teddy nodded absently, chewing his lip.

"I promise they are alright," Harry stated calmly. "They'll be up soon and delighted to see you."

The boy brightened considerably, shifting to his preferred appearance. "That's good, I've missed you all so much. I've loads to tell you about Hogwarts!"

"How about you tell me some tales while we cook breakfast together?" Harry suggested.

"That'd be brilliant!"

The two ambled towards the kitchen. Harry waved his wand errantly, summoning the ingredients he would need while Teddy launched into a story about Transfiguration, his favourite subject. The young boy's exuberant chatter was a welcome reprieve from the sinister fears pervading the chilly morning air. The young boy's features would morph as his excitement grew, a constant ebb and flow that paired his story subconsciously.

A gift from his mother, Harry thought, watching him fondly.

"Professor Indra says if I take summer courses with him I can join the third year Transfiguration class next year! Oh, and if I can keep up I could do an apprenticeship with him over my sixth and seventh years!" The boy's smile was bright and wide. Unnaturally so. His teeth actually glowed while his mouth stretched comically across his face akin to a spotlight.

"I'm so proud of you, Teddy. You're doing amazing." The words were complemented by a hand reaching out to ruffle blue hair.

"Do you think I'm good enough to join the Edrith Spell-Weaving Institute?"

"Of course you are," Harry responded immediately. His gaze slid over to the side so he could peer at his godson slyly. "So you're still set on following Fleur's footsteps, eh?"

Teddy blushed but nodded, his attachment to his pseudo-aunt and mother well-known.

"They'd be lucky to have you," Harry continued as he laid out bacon on a skillet, the smell causing Teddy to interrupt his continued tales of Hogwarts with a loud rumbling stomach. They both laughed. A bright head of blue hair nudged next to Harry's waist so the boy could peer over at the bacon, his favoured breakfast food. The head shifted, tilting upwards and Harry jerked.

It was a rapid lunge that made his heart pound painfully, his eyes watered and he felt a brief flash of humiliated panic that he was about to _cry_. Biting the inside of his cheek, he stamped down the urge.

Teddy stared in shock at Harry's reaction, his features morphing back to his normal state, though his expression remained befuddled and abashed.

"I'm sorry, Harry, I didn't mean to frighten you," he apologized unnecessarily.

The rush of blood was slowing but the pain lingered. "It's alright, I-I was just surprised is all. You didn't do anything wrong." But in his head, the image of a pig snout remained, etched like ink bleeding through the pages of his memories to stain what lay underneath.

His hand reached out to pluck his godson's nose between his fingers tenderly. "You have your mother's nose," he said with a grin.

Teddy beamed up at him, unaware and ecstatic.

The moment was interrupted by a loud squawk and the rapid pounding of little feet. Fayette rocketed into Teddy's waist, smooshing the air from his lungs. She babbled away while staring up at him with round eyes. The boy laughed and hugged her to his chest, swishing her around.

"It's so good to see you Fay, I've missed you," Teddy said, grinning.

"Teddy-bear!" Came her excited squeal, which turned into delighted giggles as he changed his face into an admittedly adorable approximation of a bear cub.

Lili peeked around the corner before stepping somewhat timidly into the kitchen. She and Teddy stared at one another for a short moment before erupting into smiles, lunging across the kitchen to hug.

Some of the pressure that was gripping Harry's soul lessened at the smile on Lili's face. It was weak and subdued, her typical confident posture lacking, but it was a smile all the same.

Fayette, not wanting to be left out, followed behind Teddy so that she could wrap her arms around his waist from behind. The three children swayed slightly for a while before releasing one another. It seemed to be taken as a sign that both Potter girls could start bombarding their brother-figure with a myriad of questions about his stint at Hogwarts.

Cooking to the rambling music of kids chattering in the background quelled the stinging fear nestled deep in Harry's gut. It was a distraction, and a lovely one. But the events of last night could not be washed away so simply.

Try as he might to latch on to the happiness of having all of his children together again, he could not ignore the boiling mess churning within. The heated mass bubbled and roiled like liquid lead, a creature granted sentience by the terror of loss. It reached out to grip him with long, taloned fingers and gnawed at the soft recesses hidden within him.

Would Teddy be next? Would Fayette? Fleur? His goddaughter, Rose? Were any of them safe? He had thought himself smart and well-guarded, using a fake name, going to a muggle school with no registered magical community near the town, employing even the most esoteric protective wards he could find yet all of it was for naught. Lili was still found and attacked.

It had been a near thing, her being swept away as she was. He couldn't rely on the portkey again, next time his enemies would be smarter. The Hostile Intent Wards Fleur and Hermione had developed after the war had been kept a secret for this very reason, a trick up the sleeve now played. A gambit forever lost.

New security measures would have to be considered and erected but he doubted they would matter. He'd never trust in her safety again, not after yesterday. He could only hope with all his being that Lili would one day feel safe again. That fear would not taint her life as it had him and her namesake.

Life was rarely so generous.

These dark thoughts fled at the sweeping arrival of Fleur Potter. Having no doubt heard Teddy's strident voice, she waltzed towards him so she could swing him up in her arms, pecking his face with light, teasing kisses. He laughed loudly while feigning complaints, falsely batting her away and struggling. The smile on the boy's face detracted from his admonitions, his hair took a silver tint, growing long and straight.

The food now done, Harry made his way over to kneel on the floor, taking Lili in his arms. He burrowed his face in her neck as he held her. Now that the Potters were complete once more, he didn't want to ever let them part again.

Breakfast passed smoothly, Harry and Fleur nimbly working together to keep topics away from last night. Lili was quieter than usual but Teddy's attentive inclusion of her in his stories kept a small smile on her face.

That changed when Harry began to wash the dishes. Typically he allowed magic to make the chore simple but years of doing it by hand at the Dursley's had taught him to feel the calming effect of suds and hot water.

Fleur had bundled the kids up and taken them on a short walk to the stream that bubbled in the orange, red, and gold forest on the Potter's property.

His silent solitude was interrupted by a familiar pecking at his window. A Daily Prophet owl was perched and staring at him intently. With trepidation, he allowed it in and took the package from its talons. Without waiting for payment, the owl turned and flew right back out of the window.

Harry unfurled the first letter, recognising the messy script.

_Dear Harry,_

_Reporters swarmed the Harpy Training ground today trying to get an interview. They gave me this morning's paper when I told them I didn't know what they were talking about._

_Are the girls okay? Are you?_

_Why didn't you tell anyone? Not even Ron knew when I firecalled him. Mum is going to be furious. We'll run interference and give you time but she'll need to see you all in person before she calms down. I'm sorry this happened Harry but Ron, Hermione, and I will kick your arse if you get all broody like in fifth year, you hear me?_

_Love,_

_Ginny_

The mentioned article was far less welcome. It outlined the attack in almost goading terms and when the fire was commented on it was quickly followed by notes about Veela's fire-proclivities and high temperament.

Before he became conscious of his actions, Harry found himself walking outside his wards so that he could apparate to a clearing deep in the woods of his property. It was a common haunt after the war and during his tenure as an Auror.

Mutilated tree trunks and cracked rocks littered the once beautiful glade. Here, under the Alders he shed restraint and sought release.

With ruthless, methodical precision, Harry exhausted himself until numbness set in. Until he could feel nothing. Nothing at all.

XXXXXXXX

Teddy stayed with them for only one more day, sliding right back into the Potter's lives as if he had never left. He slept in the same room that had been his since Harry had first met him. He was a bright spot in an otherwise dismal moment, delaying the reality threatening to crash in upon the family.

Fayette was blissfully ignorant, flitting about the place with Teddy being dragged behind her. Lili, however, stayed in her room most of the day, but would creep out occasionally to sit and read on the couch as the other children played.

Her actions represented a noticeable change. An abhorrent one.

Ron made his first appearance that first day, marching in unceremoniously and gripping Harry in a bone-crushing hug. A mumbled, "it'll be okay, mate," was said as the two men stood together. He'd then disappeared upstairs to see his goddaughter.

Other Weasleys and family friends filtered in periodically in an almost coordinated fashion. An evening didn't pass without someone bringing food and company. Usually in pairs, one aunt or uncle would distract the children so the other could sit and soothe the frayed nerves of Harry and Fleur.

He loved them for it, but the diversion was only momentary. The walls closed back in as soon as they left.

The day Teddy left was difficult. Fayette had stomped her feet and huffed like a little dragon. Lili had given a sad farewell and hugged him. Fleur had surreptitiously wiped away tears just as she had when he boarded the Hogwarts Express.

Teddy's hair had darkened to a crimson shade, his face becoming wolf-like, protective. "Keep them safe," the boy had murmured firmly, his tiny hand gripping Harry's arm tight.

When had this little boy grown, Harry had wondered. The cheeky brat ordering around adults already. His mother would've been smugly delighted.

At the time, he'd felt the overwhelming urge to sweep his surrogate son into his arms and never let any of his children out of his sight. To tell Teddy how proud he was of the man he was becoming, and how much he loved the parents the boy would never meet.

Instead, Harry had smiled and ruffled the boy's hair before responding. "You know I will."

XXXXXXXX

Sleek silver stained red. Blue pools motionless and flat. White feathers singed black. The smell of brimstone and charcoal became overpowering, a toxic burning corroding his nose and causing Harry to lunge upwards.

His chest heaved. A strange, bitter taste hung heavy on his tongue. Hot sweat quickly cooled in the frigid night air, causing his muscles to shudder reflexively .

The room was dark and his eyesight returned slowly. A body shifted on the bed beside him, causing the mattress to tilt. Even with his weak vision, he could make out the form of Fleur's hair in the oppressive gloom. He ran his hand through his own untidy, tangled locks as his breathing slowed.

After the war he'd often wake up fighting, arms splaying and fists seeking a red-eyed wraith that taunted him from the ephemeral mists of slumber. Fleur would wake by his side and hold him, murmuring in his ear until sleep claimed him once more.

Life had changed and with it his nightmares.

The terrors that haunted his sleep now were a quiet violence. He did not wake up afraid like he used to, midway through a battle waged in his mind. A sorrow deep and wide and terrible had replaced it. Smothering and desolate, consciousness returned only when his paralysed muscles screamed against imagined bindings so harshly that cramping aches lanced through his limbs.

Even over ten years later he could always count on his wife to wake and soothe him when the red-eyed wraith returned. It had become less frequent as time passed, now coming only sparingly, but always around the Memorial.

She did not wake now. Not for these silent panics that crept like spider legs upon him. She was used to him waking before her and slipping out of bed as he did now. His aim, however, was different. He was not leaving her to begin breakfast nor go for an early morning run, a habit started during his Auror training.

With a shuffled step, he made his way to the door, scooping up a discarded nightshirt along the way. He didn't make a sound as he closed the door firmly behind him, gazing one more time at the slumbering form of his wife.

Intellectually, he knew she'd want him to wake her. To allow her presence and whispered love to soothe him back asleep in her arms. She would curl protectively about his body and sing a wordless lullaby or wake alongside him and allow the regrets and recriminations to pour mud-like from his mouth.

Instead, he followed his feet. The cold wood leached warmth from him but the numbness that followed was welcome. He paused outside the door before him, but only briefly. With a hesitant push he cracked it open so he could slip inside.

Soft blues and eggshell whites, tidy drawers and dressers made of dark walnut wood, and a tiny bed rested in the room's centre. Puffs of breath too delicate to call snores drew his gaze to the rumpled sheets where his daughter lay. Lili's face was peaceful tonight, a sight that had become rare.

Harry reached out a hand, caressing the silk and silver of her crown.

A painful fissure closed in his chest, a relief, small but sweet, taking flight as he watched his daughter dream.

She had suffered in her own fashion. Masked men and her friend's scream of pain had jolted her awake on multiple occasions, hiccuping with sobs and resistant to the comfort her parents tried to console her with. Lili had been asking to see Jasmine with a poorly disguised desperation and no matter how Harry assured her that her friend was safe, she remained adamant. His daughter had become angry with him, becoming icily silent at his presence, even going so far as to turn her head away from his gaze.

It hurt.

Her reaction was understandable, but it left him anxious for when the truth of Jasmine's memory eventually came to light.

Fatherhood wasn't a particularly easy tribulation in and of itself but the joy of his children made it a far simpler and pleasant endeavour than their ire did.

Last night had been the first time Lili had not ended up in her parent's bed. He had awoken that morning with his arm reaching out to find her only to come up empty. After a brief moment of panic had been chased away by the sight of her sleeping in her room, a strange sort of pride had budded in his heart. He was glad she was so strong, so like her mother. But that happiness was eroded by his own need, a clinging, desperate desire to keep her close. A dread that came with the dawn and her absence.

Turning, Harry made his way out of his eldest's room before descending the stairs soundlessly. He trudged to an office that had become more of a place for storage after his Auror tenure had ended.

With a sigh, he closed the door behind him, leaning against the heavy wood. His old office was the one cluttered room in the house, a place outside of his wife's tyranny of cleanliness. Piles of books and papers towered upon a desk and dotted the floor. Boxes were shoved along the wall, varied labels adorning them; 'Auror Files' were interspaced with 'Yule Decorations' and 'Sheet Music.'

Harry chewed the inside of his cheek, unconsciously scrubbing the back of his head. With a jerk, he walked over to a small box sitting on his desk-chair. It was a familiar, hateful storage container. Serving as a bitter reminder of his failure, a cardboard monument to his career's greatest regret.

Now, it taunted him.

Fear and hatred rose like bile in his throat which he choked back. There was a vast difference between preparing for an attack and experiencing one. Harry didn't believe himself complacent in the eleven years since the war's end but his expectations, perhaps, had dulled.

He would end this. The last Death Eater had to be stopped and Harry knew he was the only one who could accomplish it.

Contemplatively, he stroked the top of the box with a finger, inadvertently drawing a line through the coating of dust. His hand flipped over the top and, steeling himself, he began to pull out the contents before making his way over to an old evidence board hanging on the far wall across from the desk. With practiced ease, he began to place pictures and information in familiar patterns.

This time would be different, he thought. Yet with each new photograph put up, Harry couldn't help the nauseating feeling that he was rousing ghosts better left dead.

XXXXXXXX

It was late at night when Fleur had finished putting the children to bed. She had been spending an increasing amount of time at her work. The Edrith Institute's ward team was making rapid progress on the project she had been pulled in on. Her charms expertise had mitigated much of the issues with perimeter stability. In the weeks after the ICW conference she had come home exhausted but excited. Supposedly, the warded perimeter had finally started to nullify magical principles as soon as they entered its radius. A breakthrough was expected soon and with it, the team leaders, Desmond and Fleur, were potentially up for nomination for International Spell Creation awards.

Such optimistic talk had since died out.

Now, she faced him in their bedroom. A clenched fist resting against a cocked hip. A conversation he'd been avoiding was clearly on the horizon. Her words confirmed his suspicions.

"Lili needs to go to school, 'Arry. She can't just be locked away until she turns eleven."

"I was."

Fleur blinked at him and he felt anger and impotence swirl into a maelstrom. He wilted under his wife's heated glare. His caustic retort now felt childish.

"So you should know better than anyone why that is unacceptable." His wife was still dressed in her work attire. The outer robes of the Spellweaving Institute robes had yet to be discarded, their dusky purple hue at odds with the green blouse and black pencil skirt she wore.

"The only thing I find unacceptable is putting her in danger. School is obviously too dangerous while someone is trying to kill her."

"And what of Hogwarts? What if this person is still not caught by then? Can you trust the school that put you in mortal peril yearly with her safety? With the grandchildren of Death Eaters as her peers?"

"You're right, we should have her go to Beauxbatons or, hell, anywhere else really."

"You're not listening to me," her voice spiked and her hair glowed ethereally. "She has to be allowed to live her life. We must do what we can to keep her safe but my daughter will _not_ feel trapped, especially by her parents."

The frayed thread of his control snapped. He had warned her he was not ready for this conversation and that had not changed.

"It is for her safety, Fleur! Damn it!" He raged. "Don't you think I understand? I don't want to have to do this either, I take no joy in keeping her isolated, and even if she ends up hating me for it, I'd rather her be alive to do so than the alternative."

"All I'm asking is for you to not be so hasty. Yes, we should take precautions now and reevaluate our current situation. But you are overreacting by making this determine her entire future. We don't know what will happen. The people responsible could be apprehended tomorrow and this disproportionate reaction will have done us no good."

"Disproportionate?" His voice sounded hysterical even to his own ears. High and strained, a crack running through the very seams of the word. "Lili was attacked, Fleur. She got away only because of our wards and trinkets but imagine if they had failed or been a second too slow. We could have lost her."

"We will lose her if we keep her under lock and key for the rest of her life."

"You know that isn't what I mean, stop trying to turn this into-"

"I'm not turning this into anything, 'Arry, don't twist this onto me. You are scared, I understand, I am too. But Lili is safe, she will be safe. The Aurors will find who did this and arrest them."

"The Aurors?" The yell crashed from his lips and tore from his throat causing Fleur to still. "You want to put our family in the hands of that bureaucratic mess of a department? Fleur, I am sure it was Dolohov, I heard his voice and I know him better than any Auror alive. I can catch him, they can't."

"You never caught him 'Arry, even when you were an Auror, what could possibly make you think you can now?" Her biting rebuke softened, "'Arry, you promised me. You looked me in my eyes when you swore you were done chasing dark wizards. That you would be there to raise our children. Together."

"I know what I promised," he roared, his hands curling into fists at his side. He felt a grim satisfaction at Fleur's jolt of surprise, followed by a dull wave of shame. Even so, he continued his tirade.

"She was attacked, Fleur. My daughter was attacked and what? You expect me to sit and do nothing? To trust others with her life? No!" Dimly, he became aware that he had started shouting, though he couldn't remember how that had begun. He had never shouted at his wife before, an errant part of him mused calmly before being stifled in the maniacal panic eroding his insides.

"You don't trust Neville?" Came her sharp reply.

"Not with this. No one with this."

"Don't." Fleur gave him a beseeching look, urging him to understand what his mind rebelled against. "Please, don't do this. Do not leave your family to go cavorting about the country looking for Death Eaters; it isn't your job anymore. It isn't _you_ anymore." Her voice was subdued and brittle, uttered by a woman who already knew she had lost. Jagged pain lanced through Harry, leaving him breathless.

Fleur noticed his hesitation and pressed forward. "Your daughters need you here, Harry. Lili has night terrors, she doesn't feel safe without you."

For a moment, brief but unforgettable, Harry felt hate surge through him at Fleur's cheap tactic, at using their daughters as a chess piece for an argument. Immediately, it washed away only to leave him so self-disgusted he felt the urge to vomit. Fear, he knew, was garrotting him, asphyxiating his control. The realization calmed him enough that he could think clearly.

He had left Fleur once and she had taken him back. She had understood then. But it broke them both. Fleur's posture spoke of her fragility, a total vulnerability. In that moment, she was a young witch by Dumbledore's tomb once again.

The fight left Harry, soul-deep exhaustion stealing through him. The blaze that had raged so frightfully hot left nothing but ash and scorched bones to compliment the sudden emptiness he felt. She was right, he wasn't the same boy anymore.

He had grown selfish with age, during the war he believed himself capable of dying for a cause if it meant Fleur and his friends could live in peace and happiness. He couldn't say the same thing now, not when it meant leaving his daughters to grow up fatherless. Not when it meant he wouldn't be there to watch them grow, and change, and love.

"I…" He paused. "I shouldn't have yelled, I'm sorry."

"You know… I always knew this would happen," a sad resentment mumbled almost to herself.

His hackles rose again in response only to be flattened by her next words. "Not this attack, I don't blame you for it, 'Arry." A pause. "I knew that one day you'd blame yourself for whatever happened to our daughters and something was bound to happen."

"People are out for revenge against me, Fleur. Death Eater remnants are obviously involved here. This is _my_ fault."

"You have no fault here, just as you weren't to blame for those who died during the war. I thought we had worked past that ridiculous self-flagellation."

"This is different."

"No. No, it really isn't."

His stomach clenched, his teeth grating together at her refusal. "It just isn't the same," he muttered petulantly. He didn't understand her incomprehension, her obstinance. How could he make her see reason? To make her see the gulf that lay between then and now?

"Why not?" Her eyes sharpened, piercing him where he stood, her tone daring.

He exploded. "Because you were right! How can you stand there and not blame me? You said we should transfer her but I refused, this could have all been avoided."

"But I agreed, 'Arry! I'm just as much at fault as you if that is the case. You forget, dear husband, that you do not make decisions unilaterally. We are a partnership. It was not your choice that she remain at Hogsthorpe but ours."

They both stared at one another, words and vitriol surging against their closed lips, threatening to pour out into the night. But exhaustion was overpowering. They were both tired. Tired from the emotional strain of the attack and tired of fighting each other.

"I'm going to contact Kingsley about how the case is proceeding. Go ahead and sleep."

He shuddered at the knowing look she gave him; her blue eyes sad and weary, ancient and resigned. She did not speak to him, nor did she rebuff him for the lie. She simply turned and with a wave of her wand, extinguished the lights.

XXXXXXXX

Harry coughed into his hands, the haggard huff of air warming the frozen digits briefly. His bloodshot eyes caressed the coiling board in front of him, searching for a connection.

It was early morning, or at least he thought it was. It had been dark when he'd slipped from the bed and lumbered down to his hole. He rubbed his jaw and snarled at the photos and words in front of him. Little progress had been made and the blank spot for Dolohov's possible locations and accomplices mocked him.

An errant tug on his lank hair turned into a sharp jerk, pulling the twisted locks painfully.

A horrified shriek sent a blizzard's chill down his spine and he made his way through his jumbled office and out his door. He made his way stumbling up the stairs and arrived outside of Lili's door, which had been flung open.

His daughter lay in her mother's lap on the floor. Fleur stroked her hair and cooed affectionately at her in an attempt to calm the young girl. A nightmare, he thought, his heart rate slowing now that he knew she was not in imminent danger. However, his heart stopped when he realized Lili was sobbing his name.

"Where's daddy?" She mewled through bubbling tears, her voice shaky and lost.

He lurched forward only to still at the frozen, accusing eyes of his wife. Her expression left nothing to doubt, she had woken to their daughter's scream alone, and consoled her alone. He had been missing when their daughter needed him… busy breaking a promise he had made for her before she'd even been born.

He met his wife's gaze and felt a crevice crack apart between them.

Quietly, he walked forward and hugged Lili's small body from behind as she cried into her mother's chest. Her whimpers lessened at his appearance, nestling closer against him and brokenly revealing the details of her nightmare.

He listened and comforted her until she exhaustedly fell asleep once more. Harry and Fleur held their daughter between them through the night in silence. He did not meet her eyes again.

XXXXXXXX

Another week had risen and died yet Harry had nothing to show for it. He was impatient and even the patience and experience from years as an Auror did little to temper his foul mood. He was certain he had heard Dolohov but no matter what rock he overturned, the Death Eater's name never came up.

The Aurors claimed they were tracking him but he had been Harry's mark when he was with the force, he knew the bastard's habits better than anyone alive. Even so, the former lieutenant of Voldemort's inner circle had a cruel guile to him. He had been the cold to Bellatrix's hot, displaying an intellectual viciousness that had been devastatingly effective during Voldemort's reign and allowed him to elude capture for over a decade.

Professor Flitwick had bested him in a gruelling duel at the Battle of Hogwarts but his body was nowhere to be found upon the war's end. The trail had been nearly nonexistent when Harry first took it up but the man had become less than a ghost since then. It had been Harry's biggest regret when leaving the department. The last Death Eater running free, dangerous and unpredictable like an axe hanging overhead. A man erroneously believed to be more concerned with escape than revenge. A notion now proven naive and wrenchingly foolish.

Harry had been slipping out at night to investigate in secret, not coming home until the early hours of the morning. At first, he had thought no one the wiser, but the increasingly frigid atmosphere between him and his wife had disabused him of the notion.

Even so, he couldn't stop. Not until they were safe. It was his duty both as a soldier and a father and he'd be damned if his inaction caused them harm, no matter the strain it caused him.

A week of sleeplessness and frantic searching certainly had taken a toll. His brain felt feverish and sluggish most of the day, while his eyes felt dry and worn. His mood had soured and he had even snapped at Fayette the other day because she was playing her harpsichord too loud while he was reading the Dolohov file for the umpteenth time. All that he prided himself seemed to be eroding away, though he refused to dwell on it long. He had a job to see finished.

The seams of his mind felt frayed and loose but he grit his teeth and doggedly continued his pursuit. This time, however, there was no Ron and Hermione in the tent with him. Hermione was still in Odessa, piecing together an ICW Resolution that he'd all but given up on. Ron, on the other hand, had been a source of strength the days after the attack. Seamlessly taking over the cooking duties that Harry couldn't bring himself to do. The red-head would bring over his brood and chat or play games with the kids so Harry and Fleur could relax in a brittle bubble of peace.

Ron was also the one that had figured out Harry's plan. He knew Harry too well, having been right alongside him for most of his mystery-solving endeavours at Hogwarts. They had come to a head four days ago, causing the freckled man to leave after a heated argument, shaking his head and grumbling about a "specky git."

Harry exited the informant's house in Knockturn Alley, shrouded in a Disillusionment charm. The old witch had been less than helpful but even her poor information had cost a hefty price. She had eyed the coin pouch greedily when he took it out but only muttered nonsense about foreign wizards and witches patronising Knockturn Alley businesses with increased regularity. That was hardly surprising considering the influx of pureblood families pawning off heirlooms tainted with the Dark Arts. Old magical houses from around the world had been purchasing the relics for various purposes for years, even magical museum curators had been involved.

It had been nearly two weeks now and the Aurors had nothing to show for it, Kingsley had even politely but firmly told him to stop asking about the investigation because it was confidential. Harry regretted what he had said in anger to his old friend afterwards but had not contacted the Minister since.

It was a curious thing. Harry had been alone for nearly eleven years as a child, not having a single relationship untainted by his cousin or Aunt and Uncle. Yet, he had never felt the sting quite so acutely as he did now, walking down the streets of Knockturn Alley on his way to the next informant's residence.

Green fire erupted from a potioneer's cauldron outside their shop.

The light shattered across Harry's face causing him to whirl to the side, the sharp movement breaking his Disillusionment charm. A Stupefy shot from his wand but his hand was shaking so badly that the spell zinged past the woman's shoulder by a wide margin. The witch gasped in alarm and made to shout at him but he was running, running, _running_.

His legs ached and lungs burned when he finally stopped, deep in the twisting underbelly of Magical Britain.

His senses felt sharp and dull at the same time, his eyes snapped wildly about as he clutched his trembling wand to his chest.

Panting, Harry tried to find something to tether himself as his surroundings slipped away, as though the alleyway and stores were being sucked into a black void that shimmered before his eyes.

With a great heave, Harry Potter leaned over and was promptly sick.

XXXXXXXX

Harry was waiting in an alleyway under his invisibility cloak. It was grimy and refuse was strewn about the place. A hard rain had fallen last night, turning the ground sodden and muddy.

The sky was still overcast. Great brooding clouds roiled above, spewing out their contents in a sheeting drizzle that pattered off his enchanted cloth.

A shiver tore through his nerveless muscles. His body rebelling, trying to warm itself since he would not. It mattered little to him.

He hadn't slept last night. When the sky first started to lighten he had swept the cloak around his shoulders and left.

Fleur would know soon, if she didn't already, of his absence.

For the first hour he had paid a visit to some of his former contacts from when he worked as an Auror. Low-level people that kept their ear to the ground. If someone had been plotting an attack on the Potters and had been looking for muscle, word should have spread.

But no one knew a thing.

Which meant either the mastermind was smart or someone was lying.

Ultimately, he had ended up here, at the Dolohov estate.

He wasn't stupid enough to think the Death Eater would be there but without a solid lead, he'd had nowhere else to go. The savage, anxious fury in his chest had propelled him to keep moving and his feet had led him here.

The Dolohovs were similar to the Blacks in that they owned a home within a muggle development, although their estate was its own complex.

It was a large, dull green building with chipped paint and weeds. The building was old and uncared for even before it was left to ruin when the last Dolohov had made his escape after losing to Professor Flitwick in the war. Now the abandoned building had become derelict and cracked. Part of the roof had caved in on the left side, allowing the rain to fall in.

It was a cold, wet, miserable day.

Harry had been in a trance of a sort for a while, as he stood staring at the home of his enemy. The blind fear curdling in his belly wanted to lash out but could find nothing within reach. For the last few hours, that feeling had soured and turned inward.

With a loud crack, Neville Longbottom appeared in front of the derelict manor, causing Harry to jolt. His heart jumped painfully and, caught off-guard he fumbled getting his wand out. The instrument of Holly and Phoenix feather clattered to the ground.

At the noise, Auror Longbottom whipped around and aimed his own wand directly at Harry.

"Come out," came the sure, commanding voice, "I know you're there."

With a grimace, Harry ripped off his cloak.

"Neville," he greeted hotly.

His friend looked stunned, mouth open and eyes bulging. They quickly narrowed.

"Blimey, what are you doing here?" The man asked, moving to stow his wand away. There was a hesitation and then the wand turned once more on Harry.

"How many points did I lose Gryffindor our first year?"

"Bloody hell, Neville. I can't count that high," Harry replied. "But your ten points at the End-of-Term Feast won us the House Cup."

The wand was pocketed.

Apparently mollified, Neville spoke. "Alright, I'll ask again. What are you doing here?"

"Same as you. Investigating."

The Auror snorted.

Harry glared.

Incredulousness turned into vexation . "You can't be serious, mate. You aren't an Auror anymore."

"I'm aware of that, but I'm here anyway."

The large man's friendly face turned concerned. "No, mate. You really can't be here. Legally, you don't-"

The self-recrimination turned molten in his stomach, the fury that had birthed it quickly finding purchase in a new target. "Piss off, Neville. I don't rightly care what the law says," Harry shouted, the veins in his neck standing out. "I'm going to find that bastard Dolohov and put an end to this."

Suddenly, Neville's expression twisted, becoming foreboding and cold. "The hell you are," he retorted vehemently. "End this? You some sort of vigilante now? Is that it? You aim to kill him?"

"I'll do what it takes to keep my family safe." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, their dark weight leaving an acidic taste upon his lips, erupting like crows from his mouth. They were equally painful. Equally horrific.

Silence engulfed the two men. Neville looked at him as though seeing him for the first time.

Harry fought a shudder.

When Neville finally spoke, his voice was firm despite the weariness leaking from it."Go home, Harry. Go back to your wife and daughters. They need you. For the love I hold for them I'll pretend I didn't hear what you just said."

"That's why I'm out here, for them-"

"No. It's not." Neville gave him a sharp look of rebuke. Harry stilled at the anger written on his friend's face. He was reminded of a boy in pyjamas, standing up for what he thought right. How little some things changed… even when everything else had.

"You're here because you don't think anyone but you can handle this case. For all your talk of staying out of the limelight, here you are. Because of what? Ego?"

Harry surged forward, gripping Neville by the coat. "Take that back," he spat venomously. "You'd do the exact same fucking thing if it was your child's life at stake."

The Auror glared at him. The usual warm, brown eyes were dark and hard. His lips a thin, white line.

Rain soaked their hair and trailed down their cheeks as the two men glared at one another. In the distance, thunder rumbled. Ozone permeated the air and the scent of it made him lightheaded.

The anger that had propelled Harry forward dissipated as he stared at his friend's face.

What the hell was he doing?

With a slight stumble, he took a step back. The wand tip pressed to his belly coming into view at his retreat. With a grunt, his back hit the cool stone of the alleyway. He slid to the muddy ground and held his head in his heads.

His insides were cold. The fiery panic that was fueling him had sputtered out. Now all he felt was drained and numb. The movements of his body felt sluggish and distant, as though his blood had been replaced by the very mud he lay in.

"Go home, Harry," Neville warned forcefully, adjusting his coat's collar. The man's face was guarded, professional. Without ceremony, he turned and began to walk away, and with him, a bridge felt burned.

They had taken an oath together once. To protect and serve, to uphold the laws of Magical Britain. It now lay mangled and tattered between them. Shattered and lost.

Without conscious thought, his mouth opened as though wrenched apart by the ghost of a person he no longer knew how to be.

"Neville," he croaked. The name felt hollow, devoid of meaning or sentiment or attachment. Like a last breath, it tumbled into existence only to be followed with silence.

The steps paused.

But Harry didn't know what to say. Or even how he could say them if he did.

The steps resumed.

The smouldering ashes of his anger tasted bitter on his tongue. A sort of desperate, strangling self-loathing poured upon him from all sides. The frenzy had passed and without it, he had no idea who he was.

A shadow passed over him before a body plopped down in the muck to his right.

"You're a mess." The voice held no judgment. It was uttered as a fact and not an opinion.

Harry leaned his head against the wall behind him.

"Yeah."

"Look, I-I know…" Neville trailed off as though uncertain how to put to words what his mind considered. "I know this isn't easy for you to hear but, mate, you're not the only one capable of doing things. This isn't the war and it isn't the prophecy. You're a father now, you can't be doing this shit anymore."

"It's because I'm a father that I need to do this."

"No. You don't," Neville said vehemently. He gestured with his large hands sharply, his palms facing the ground. "You might feel that way but it's just not true. Bloody hell, I know I'm not a father but I think I've learned a thing or two from watching you and Ron be good ones. And this? This isn't it."

Neville sighed, the sound rattling out of his lungs. His thick hands ran through his hair, catching on a few locks which made him wince. "You know what I think? I think you're doing this to make _yourself_ feel better. But is this really where you need to be? What you should be doing? I'm sure Lili and Fleur are scared right now. Isn't the fatherly thing being with them?"

Exhaustion pulled at him. He absently wondered if this was what drowning felt like; as though stones were tied to his feet and weighing him down. But the lead heart in his chest was heavier by far.

"Keeping them safe is the fatherly thing to do. Even if I'm out here doing it."

"I think you're wrong. And I bet you know you are too."

Harry lolled his head to the side so he could see Neville clearly. He evaluated the large, broad, powerfully-built man his friend had become. Resigned, he spoke. "Oh yeah? And what makes you so sure of that?"

"Because our fathers stayed."

The air solidified in his chest. He couldn't breathe. Adrenaline flooded his body but his mind refused to work. His body refused to move.

Neville turned his face and once again met Harry's stare.

"In the end… that was where they were. Where they _chose_ to be. With us. Doing what they could as best they knew how. Not out there." Neville flung a hand out in a grand, flippant gesture, "trying to face the world on their own."

The world was blurring but no matter how much Harry blinked nothing would come into focus. His ears rang a shrill note that fluctuated in pitch incessantly and the tiredness was no longer merely physical. It had become a monstrous, consuming maw that swallowed him whole.

He tried to speak but no words came out. It felt as though he was trying to roll a boulder out of his throat so his vocal chords could work. In the end, he couldn't say anything.

Neville seemed to understand, and with a huff lurched to his feet.

His friend peered down at him while a small but boyish smile flickered across his face, looking like the same cheery and dependable man Harry had relied on so often over the years.

He reached down a hand. "Come on, mate. You have somewhere you need to be."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a difficult chapter to write, the emotional gravity of the situation was a hard thing to illustrate. I hope I did it justice.
> 
> To all those who struggle with PTSD, know you are loved and strong.


	8. May These Bruises Fade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, thank you for reading my story. Please see my profile for information regarding canon compliance and a general timeline of my interconnected stories. While they are not necessary to read, my short stories add flavour and context.
> 
> Sincere gratitude must be given to Luq707, LTCMDR Michal Drápalík and all the other great people who gave up their time to edit my story in the Harry/Fleur discord.
> 
> I own none of the rights, nor make money, nor gain fame, or anything else from Harry Potter.
> 
> Cheers.

Morning dawned bright. Swirls of pink and orange filtered through the curtains of Harry's bedroom window like ribbons of velvet sunlight. Distantly, the sound of birdsong filled the air, lilting nearly so quiet as to be disregarded for a musical breeze. For the most part, however, it was still dark. The sliver of light incapable of illuminating the furthest reaches of the shaded room.

Harry absently tracked the sun's trail from where he lay on his side in bed. The thin peak of light stretching out as the morning's herald rose higher above the horizon. The rise and fall of Fleur's chest against his back was comforting, as were the legs and arms that she had latched onto him with through the night as though scared she would wake up without him. Again.

With a resigned air, he had attempted sleep. The nightmares that had plagued him of blood-covered silver and cold, pale skin had been a constant companion every night since the attack. Tortured visions mocking him from behind eyelids.

At times he heard his mother. Her shouted protestation of "not Harry, please not Harry" melding into the beautifully broken voice of Fleur as she pleaded for their own daughter's life.

No. He had not slept well. Not for a long time.

The bruised skin under his eyes had caused looks of concern to be furtively snuck his way, which he ignored.

Last night had been better, relatively speaking. The conversation with Neville had not resolved the fear or the rage at his impotence, but it had dulled the ache of his indecision. Straddling the line of committing to one version of himself over the other had worn at him. He had never done well with indecision, preferring to act decisively and with conviction whenever possible. Once a decision was made he followed through, at times to disastrous ends. However, simply having a choice made and focusing on it was preferable to him than the poisonous second-guessing he'd been subjecting himself to.

Neville would probably never fully grasp the importance of the hand he reached out that day in the muck but Harry did. And damned if he didn't know if he could ever thank his friend as he deserved.

Idly, he wondered if his father had a similar friend. Someone to curb his worst impulses. Someone who stopped him from running blindly off a cliff, perhaps even saving his own marriage in the process.

Remus was the obvious choice, he thought. Level-headed, logical. For even though Sirius and James had been like brothers, sometimes you needed someone who wouldn't support you unquestioningly. Who would force you to face your follies.

A whimper from behind perked his ears to attention, wrenching his focus outward. The long fingers of his wife were fisted tightly in his nightshirt. A tremble passed through her arm as her soft snoring turned to shuddered gasps.

Terrors lurked in dreams. A fact he knew well.

Giving his wife a gentle shake, she stirred and stiffened against him. Loss, unwelcome and painful swamped him at the feeling. Their relationship had noticeably cooled and the gap was ever widening.

She had pulled away from him or perhaps she remained while he spun loose. No matter the cause, the effect remained the same. While she could not fight her body's natural inclinations to press against his at night, the morning brought recognition and rejection.

Fleur rolled to her side and the space between them seemed insurmountable.

Fear makes monsters of us all, he contemplated. He'd been a poor husband, a poor father. Had crumbled under the avalanche of anxiety for his daughter's safety. How had his parents done it? Neville's? He did not know.

A choice.

Now a consequence.

Without wasting words, Harry stirred from a marital bed gone cold. He padded softly out of the bedroom and downstairs, stopping at the landing to gaze at the closed door taunting him from the end of the hall.

An internal battle had been waged and lost. Though the embers of the conflict flickered still, bright and hot. Even so, Harry wrenched himself around and made his way to the kitchen instead of following the urge seeking to drag him down that long, dark hallway to the beckoning door.

Breakfast would not make itself.

The ghosts of great men had been roused in Harry's mind lately, ever since he'd first stepped into that office. They lingered just over his shoulder, testing him. They too had made choices. Choices that had rippled across the fabric of the world in roiling waves, tearing apart the seams of families and foes alike. It wasn't until Neville's words had Harry been able to make sense of the whispered rumblings that shivered their way through his mind. Warnings and condemnations.

Had Dumbledore ever understood the ramifications of his trust that November night when he left a baby on a doorstep? Did Snape's life ever feel free from a choice made as a young, foolish man?

Both had died before such questions could ever be answered, let alone asked. Harry had thought he'd found closure, standing atop that lonely hill a decade after their passing as he traced their names on a memorial made of marble and magic.

The men who had shaped Harry indelibly left their marks. They'd moulded him into an amalgamation of choices that had carried over into the next generation. He'd reacted with the same fearful paternalism practised against him, had threatened the sanctity of love by tempestuous reactions.

Choices and ghosts, he knew, were best left buried as memories. No good came of unearthing them either through a stone now lost or a door best closed.

He was nothing but a cracked mirror. A leaf washed down a river, following the movement of a stream determined long before.

His ponderous mood was broken by the flare of his fireplace, he put down the pastries he was making and peeked around the corner to the living room.

Hermione Granger-Weasley was siphoning soot from her sharp business attire and muttering to herself.

"Morning Hermione," Harry intoned. "Would you like some tea?"

The witch started, her shoulders jerking upwards but stilling quickly. She grinned sheepishly at him as she finished dusting herself off. "Good morning, Harry. No, I don't need tea, thank you for asking. I'm afraid I can't tarry long."

He nodded solemnly in response as he settled against the doorframe that demarcated the boundary between kitchen and living room. "So, what can I do for you?" He asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Hermione chewed her bottom lip, eyes bouncing ponderously from side-to-side like a metronome. His own lips turned slightly upwards at the tips at the familiar sight of a vexed Hermione.

Seeming to come to some agreement with herself, the witch closed the distance between them. Her arms raised so that she could wrap them around Harry's waist. She burrowed her thickly plaited hair into his chest.

"I'm so sorry, Harry. I'm so, so sorry."

He let out a sigh, as he stroked his friend's head in acceptance of her sentiment. "She is alright, Hermione. That is what is important." He paused as he felt moisture soaking through his shirt and soft sniffling sounds coming from beneath his chin. "You know, it is thanks to your work creating a Portkey capable of being triggered by a ward that saved her life," he mused.

With great feeling, he kissed the top of his friend's head. "Thank you." His murmur was barely discernible through the tangled brown locks.

A greater sob passed through the diminutive witch's body before she schooled herself. Straightening, she unlocked her arms from around him before patting his chest in a motherly fashion.

"Yes, well, that is good," came her reply, her voice affecting nonchalance even as tears still trickled down her cheeks.

"I wish I could have come to see you all," Hermione continued, surreptitiously wiping away the stains on her face. "But right as word spread about the attack, Abbas from Azerbaijan and the Armenian delegation began to attack the Resolution's credibility."

Resentful poison rushed through his veins as Harry struggled to remain focused. "They used the school burning down?"

"Yes," Hermione confirmed. "They claimed it was indicative of… 'dark creatures' predilection towards wanton destruction. That they can't be trusted to retain the International Statute of Secrecy without firm regulation from Wizards."

"I see." Cold. He felt so very cold.

"That's why I couldn't leave, I needed to do as much damage control as possible. If I had let them control the narrative alone…" She trailed off.

"The Resolution would have stalled," he finished for her. He scrubbed his face with his hands, pressing against his eyes wearily. "Don't worry about it," he said through his fingers, "I knew you had a job to do. Besides, Ron was over here daily anyways."

"That is what I wanted to talk to you about… Ron mentioned that you were, uh, having difficulties." Her voice took on a beseeching tone, it was clear she didn't quite know how to broach the subject.

"He told you about the tiff we got into, you mean?" Harry smirked as colour rose up her neck. "Don't fret, your husband straightened me out. Made it clear that I was being a dunderhead in your place." He looked away, his joking tone fading. "He was right. I'm not trying to solve the case myself anymore."

A small hand rubbed his arm soothingly. "I understand how hard that must be for you, Harry. Truly, I do. And I'm proud of you."

"I appreciate that but pride won't keep my family safe. Nor, I fear, can the Aurors."

"They aren't the same Department any more. They've been modernized extensively, both during and after your involvement."

"Magical Law Enforcement has greatly improved under your leadership," he admitted, "but there are still problems."

"I suspect there always will be," she replied, not unkindly. "But you can trust Kingsley and Neville, surely."

He nodded, attempting a show of conviction.

Hermione seemed to sense he needed a change of conversation

"There is something else we need to talk about," she muttered, her face betraying trepidation.

"The ICW?"

"Unfortunately." She nibbled upon her bottom lip again. "News will break today so I thought I'd tell you in person. The Resolution passed."

Harry blinked. "Uh, that's great?" Hermione's downcast face caused confusion to run rampant. Had the provisions been watered down? What concessions did she have to make? Did any of this even matter any more?

"Well, yes, it is." She brightened marginally. "But, well, many Member States are unhappy about it. The ones that supported us are angry that it isn't as effective as they'd hoped and the ones that were against it are, of course, upset that it passed at all."

"Colour me surprised."

"Mhm."

He rolled his eyes. "Out with it, Hermione."

The words tumbled out so quickly he had to take a moment to sort out what she'd said. "Most of the provisions have certain caveats, they are either optional or unenforceable." Her face crumpled. "I'm so sorry, Harry. We failed."

A few weeks ago, he might have commiserated with her, even shared in her crushed spirit. But his world had changed along with his priorities.

He heaved a sigh before reaching out to ruffle Hermione's head of hair. She batted his arm away irritably, which caused him to chuckle.

"Don't apologize. You did great. The foundation has been laid for the future, which is all we could have hoped for."

"I wanted more."

"So did I," he confessed. "But this was important too. At least it is on record. What is that phrase you used when you first roped me into this? 'Rome wasn't built in a day?'"

"Don't use my words against me, Harry." She squinted at him amusedly. "You make them sound dumber than they are."

"You wound me," he responded dryly.

His ploy had the intended effect. He watched as the timidity leached out of Hermione slowly, her jaw set and spine straightened.

"Right," she spoke to herself, "this is good. This is workable." Her eyes steeled. "We need to start an education campaign to combat the disinformation being spread. If we get more public support we can push for more at the next ICW conference."

Harry nodded resolutely. "That's the spirit." He didn't voice his own opinion, she did not need bitterness and spite. Hermione operated on hope and tended to not appreciate his pessimism.

Instead, he decided to urge her differently. "Go wake Lili before you leave, Hermione. She will want to see her godmother."

The witch smiled with genuine fondness. "Yes, I'd like that," she said as she turned towards the stairs.

He watched as she made her way up to his daughter's room before ambling back into the kitchen.

Between chocolate croissants and Lili's insistence, the Potters would likely have a guest for breakfast this morning.

Hermione did indeed stay. Her presence a welcome respite, filling the dining table with chatter that had been sorely missed. Her presence was sunshine, bright and revitalizing.

When Fleur had come down to see breakfast made, she'd quirked an eyebrow but said nothing. Her eyes trailed over him as he placed food on the table before engaging Hermione in conversation.

The two witches spoke of Fleur's work at the Spellweaving magic was fascinating and went mostly over Harry's head as the brilliant women discussed the intricacies of magical theory across from him.

Regardless, he listened contentedly as Fleur discussed her work and to Hermione's inquisitive questions.

Ernst had figured out an arithmantic expression that resolved one of the quandaries causing problems with the project's ward line. Due to the magic-nullification nature of the ward, it tended to slowly erase itself from the inside out. Fleur's deft charmwork had fixed that problem but the ward lines had been too unstable, causing strange properties to manifest when anyone entered the boundary. Supposedly, such quirks had now been settled.

The cool air between the Potters did not go amiss. Hermione had flashed him numerous worried looks throughout breakfast before pulling him aside during the dishwashing.

"Are you two alright?" She questioned bluntly.

Harry grimaced. He moved to scratch his jaw only to blanch at the sudsy contact from soap-slicked fingers. Hermione tutted at him as she swiped at the bubbles on his cheek with the drying rag clutched in her hands.

"We got into an argument," he disclosed. It seemed a gross understatement to him, a falsity that his friend easily saw through.

"Fleur tends to say her piece and be done with it, not become distant." Hermione glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. "What happened?"

Harry debated divulging details about the wall erected between him and Fleur before resolving himself resignedly. He'd dug himself a hole, mind as well ask for a rope.

"She wants Lili to go to school and I don't." He coughed awkwardly. "And she's…displeased that I've been investigating Dolohov."

Hermione glowered at him. "I imagine she is. Oh, you insufferable man." She waggled her finger at him, a habit picked up from her mother-in-law. Her furious state was somewhat undone by the flowery tea-towel in her hand.

"You know even better than I how terrified Fleur is of her daughters growing up friendless and alone. I also assume you did this 'investigating' behind her back," she accused.

"I confess nothing," Harry's attempted humour died in the face of Hermione's ire.

She whipped him with the tea-towel. "Teaspoons! You and Ron are utter teaspoons!"

"I like to think Ron, at least, has grown a bit," Harry said while holding up his hands to defend himself from the offending scrap of fabric.

"He gave me a boxing telescope for our anniversary this year!"

Harry barked out a laugh. "Now that's just funny-," his grin soured at Hermione's thunderous expression, "er, I mean romantic."

"Yes, because I wanted to reminisce about my black eye from sixth year while celebrating the day of my wedding."

Unable to help himself, he slyly smiled at her. "So, did you look through it?"

Hermione shoved him playfully with her shoulders. "Cad," she grumbled.

Familiar camaraderie calmed the unrest that still skittered insect-like within his belly. Hermione had been a constant in his life, an unwavering source of support, love and friendship. She was a presence that re-centred him, a sister in everything but blood.

She represented a safety and security he was in desperate need of.

It was only her that he could broach the question surging up his throat. He finally spat it out like bile, immediately feeling better for having dislodged it. "How do you and Ron do it?"

She smiled softly as she continued drying the plates, her eyes intent on the task. His worry over offending her petering out at the tender expression upon her face.

"It is easier than you think," she answered. "You and Fleur are typically so in sync that you both tend to lack experience when dealing with disagreements." She chuckled. "I've always been in awe of you two's relationship, who would have thought such concurrence would become problematic?"

He grunted, failing to see the humour in the situation.

Hermione easily grasped his mood. "You move on," she lectured. "Some things are more important than a disagreement, no matter how big. The children, for instance. You are a couple, yes, but parents first."

He finished washing the last plate, handing it off to Hermione, while his mind turned over her words. Hot water prickled his skin as he plunged his hands into the sink to unplug it. "So, what? You move past it?"

She shook her head. "It isn't good to act like the disagreement didn't happen or not resolve it. But sometimes people need time to figure things out." She gave him a significant look. "You especially."

Harry huffed. "Mr Weasley gave me advice when I asked for Fleur's hand. He said to never sleep on an argument. That if you go to bed angry, you let the negativity fester."

"He gave the same wisdom to Ron and me. It's good advice," Hermione conceded. "I think it is true for the majority of spats but some problems are too large to be dealt with in a single night, don't you think?"

Were there? He was unsure. Perhaps, even the seemingly insurmountable could be rectified if you worked with your partner instead of against them, as he had done. He'd allowed panic to set him against his wife, facing her as a foe rather than an ally; reverting to his past, when he believed himself to be right against the face of reason. Visions of Sirius falling through the veil and Malfoy's blood in a bathroom caressed his thoughts tauntingly.

"Regardless," she continued at his silence, "it does no good to ruminate on issues. Even when Ron and I butt heads we still clear the air so it doesn't affect Hugo or Rose. That helps to remind us that we are a unit and that disagreements can be temporary."

"Thank you for the suggestion," Harry said truthfully, "but I don't know if Fleur is ready to forgive me enough for even that."

Hermione gave him a stern look. "She doesn't need to forgive you, Harry. She only needs to love you. We all make mistakes. Forgiveness takes time but a marriage doesn't wait for it. Neither should your children."

Harry stored the wisdom away to consider later. The pain was too private to share even with Hermione. He wore a feigned smile. "When did you get so smart?" He teased weakly.

She flicked her hair over her shoulder snootily. "Since I was born," came her jesting reply. "But Ron has put my theory into practice, admittedly."

"He's lucky to have you."

Hermione gently smiled, eyes glowing just as they did when she wore a white dress and professed her love. "We are lucky to have each other."

"And I'm lucky to have you both." The friendship of Ron and Hermione had saved him in more ways than either knew. Nothing had changed in the nearly two decades since he'd met them and he firmly believed it never would.

"Ron suggested that I drop a hint to you about him meeting Neville later tonight at the Leaky Cauldron," Hermione mentioned offhandedly as she finished putting the now dry dishes away into cupboards.

"Subtly done."

"Boys are dumb and I tired of being your messenger-owl back in fourth year."

"Dumb is a strong word," Harry cautioned. He affixed an expression of shocked recognition on his face. "I'm sorry, how rude of me." He rummaged about his kitchen counter before drawing out an owl treat. "Here," he said, moving to offer it to his friend. "Thanks for the message."

Harry was still rubbing his arse from a viciously given stinging hex when Hermione left the Potter home.

XXXXXXXX

He walked through the front area of the bar, passing clustered tables, benches and people. Some patrons waved, others looked away, and some scowled.

Harry swung by the bar and greeted the barmaid warmly, "Hey, Hannah, how're you?"

"Fine, just fine," the pretty lass replied, blowing an errant lock of dirty blonde hair out of her face. "How're you?" Her sympathetic tone kind.

"I'm… I suppose there isn't any use lying, is there?" Hannah shook her head, a knowing smile on her face. "I'm not doing well but I am getting better." Harry grinned at her. "Your husband helped a good deal with that. He's a good man."

The pretty barmaid grinned. "It's why I married him."

"And here I thought it was because he killed a snake."

"Eh, I've heard him yelp when a garden snake sneaks into his greenhouse too often to be impressed by that any longer."

Harry nodded sagely. "An enchanted sword will do wonders for a man's confidence."

Snorting, Hannah promptly thrust a pint into his hand with the assurance that Ron had already forked coin over for it before shooing him off to the table his friends had commandeered.

Scowling, Harry nodded before taking a gulp. Scanning the room, and pointedly not meeting the eyes of a few witches over in the corner, he spotted his quarry. He strolled over to the dark corner at the back of the establishment, situated in a corner where those seated could see the entirety of the place, especially the two openings out into Muggle London and Diagon Alley. Old habits died hard for Aurors.

Ron had a packet of crisps open before him as he lounged in the booth, the red-head smirked at him knowingly, "how's the drink, you specky git? To your satisfaction?"

Harry had to stifle his knee-jerk rebuke of his best mate's ancestry, reminding himself that Molly and Arthur were truly lovely people and had very little to do with the troll their son had become.

Sliding into the booth, he pushed his glasses higher onto his nose with a grimace before speaking, "what the bloody hell are you poisoning me with now?"

His companion's smirk split into a self-satisfied grin, "Hannah called it an Oyster Stout, I believe."

Actively fighting the urge to spit up the mouthful he'd just choked down, he glared at the smiling man before him. "You utter arse, making me drink this… this briny bivalve bitter."

The freckled man tossed his head back while he guffawed, "took you a while to think of that one, didn't it?" He said after settling.

"I'll get you for this."

"That's what you said last time."

Harry blinked. "I can't believe your grudge has lasted so long. You'll never forgive me will you?"

"Never."

Pausing, Harry stared across the table in contemplation before responding, "can you at least admit it was funny?"

Ron's lips betrayed him briefly before they thinned in a stern expression. "You gave me spiced pepper beer at your wedding. I sprayed it all over myself after giving the best man toast."

Scratching the side of his cheek, the bespectacled man smiled fondly, "blimey, it was hilarious."

He received an unimpressed look as a return but both men looked up as their party expanded. Neville Longbottom, still in his work robes came striding up to meet them.

"Have you two eaten, yet?" The newcomer asked eagerly.

The two men waved him off, the red-head deciding to tell his compatriots that he'd already ordered dinner for everyone.

"Thanks, mate, I've not had a proper meal all day, been right peckish," the brown-haired man said as he slid next to Ron who budged over. "The whole department's in an uproar…" the man wisely read the crowd and trailed off.

Fighting the dark mood threatening to overtake him, Harry greeted Neville with a smile before turning to Ron, "so what'd you order?"

"Don't worry, it'll pair nicely with your crustacean swill."

Their friend interrupted before Harry could say his rejoinder. "You two still having a battle of libations, are you?"

"Yes, unfortunately. I owe dear Ronald two-fold after tonight."

"A benefit of marrying Hermione is I'm always early now. Good luck beating me here to order my drink. What is it your cousin-in-law, Angèle, is so fond of saying, mate? 'The early bird gets the worm?'"

"I never should have introduced you two."

"It's been a punning disaster ever since," Neville agreed.

Ron took a swig of his pint, "bugger, that's bitter." He took another drink and pulled a face. "Someone needs to tell ol' Tom to watch his batches. He seems to be getting heavy-handed in his advanced age."

"Hannah's taken over the brewing."

"And a deft hand she is."

Smirking at his old friend's backpedalling, Harry momentarily forgot what his drink contained and took a large gulp. His mates across the table laughed heartily as his eyes bulged and his neck veins popped out in his struggle to keep it down.

At that moment, Hannah arrived, arms laden with cottage pie.

Harry rose to help pass out the pies, motioning Neville to stay seated in the process. The man wore a wearied look about him, looking as if he'd been just as sleepless as Harry in the weeks since the attack.

Hannah bent down to brush a kiss against Neville's head before whisking away.

"How're the kiddos?" Harry asked Ron, settling back down across from the red-head.

Ron's face turned dreamy. "Rosie is the smartest witch of her age, I just know it," he gloated.

Neville smirked at Harry. "Hasn't Hermione and Ginny been trying to get her to call you 'Ronald' instead of 'Dad?'"

Ron scowled. "They're trying to get me back for painting Rosie's bedroom orange."

"I didn't know Rose liked the Chudley Cannons?" Neville asked befuddled.

Harry barked out a laugh. "She couldn't care less about Quidditch. Just like her mum. Ron's in denial."

Ron shot him a peeved look before turning sly. "Who is your daughter rooting for this season again?"

"You're a right bastard, Ronald."

Neville guffawed. "Seems Ginny is behind in converting her nieces and nephews to Harpies fans."

"Not really," Harry said. "She has Angelina and Audrey's brood firmly for her old team."

"And the little imps love to rub it in their Uncle's face every time the Harpies eke out a win against the Cannons," Ron muttered mutinously.

"Often then," Neville interjected as Harry chuckled.

The men tucked into their dinner then and conversation lulled. The cottage pie was delectable; a comfort food of hearty potatoes, carrots, and meat that warmed Harry's mouth, stomach and heart.

"You're a lucky bastard," he mentioned to Neville as they finished scraping their plates.

Ron agreed enthusiastically while Neville grinned proudly. "She's a fine cook," he agreed. "And a better woman."

"Speaking of women," Ron remarked, "I've got a question for you, mate." He pointed his fork in Harry's direction.

Hermione had likely suggested the meddling about to enfold. Harry gave a defeated shrug. "Sure, what's on your mind?"

"Do you ever regret it?"

Harry felt flat-footed at the question, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. This was not what he was expecting whatsoever. Hermione would not have had a hand in such a brutish line of questioning. He glanced over at Ron. "Regret what?

Ron pursed his lips with an oddly curious look before continuing, "well... marrying so young?"

At Harry's dark expression Ron moved to clarify. "Don't get me wrong, mate. We all know how good Fleur is for you. Bloody hell, I saw exactly what she meant during and after the war. I've no doubt she's what kept you alive."

Ron's expression grew pensive, ghosts flitting across his face before his eyes switched to Neville who was sitting quietly, listening. "I just wonder... shite, even Neville got his hands under a number of skirts before settling down with Hannah."

The red-head kept talking over the Auror's embarrassed mutterings into his cup of ale. "I had Lavender, which wasn't much of anything but, well… it was at least an _experience_ before Hermione." Ron's eyes felt hot on Harry as he continued to stare at the wall away from him pointedly. "You didn't have anyone before falling into a relationship with the witch you ended up marrying. Seems sorta limited."

Harry's hand clenched around his cup. He wanted to lash out at Ron, disabuse him of the notion of his supposed 'limitation,' whatever that tripe meant. But he couldn't. He understood Ron's position, could tell what his friend was trying to say through good-intentioned fumbling.

Ron's eyes were pleading and slightly cautious when Harry's met them. It cooled the irritation a bit more. "Not for a single moment," his tone final.

Softening his gaze he continued, "I see your point of view, mate. Honestly, I do. It's certainly uncommon. But I like to think my dad felt the same way for my mum. He knew she was it."

Harry skimmed the rim of his glass with a fingertip. "I flatter myself by believing that my pursuit of her, the love I feel for her, made me a better man. If for no other reason than to feel deserving of the gift she'd given me in return." Harry took a drink to hide his trembling lips.

Ron nodded contemplatively before taking a swig of his firewhiskey. "Well, Merlin only knows how much of a sullen ponce you would've been without her all these years." His grin turned serious. "I'm glad you have each other mate, you've truly been good for each other." His earnest words were undercut slightly by the steam coming from his ears.

Neville chimed his agreement. "Plus," he began, until a boyish smile of appreciation swept over his face as Hannah Longbottom dropped off another round at their table, effectively interrupting him. Harry noticed Neville's gaze lingering on his wife's swinging hips as she walked away. Shaking himself slightly, Neville looked at them, quailing minutely at their smirks. "What?" He muttered indignantly to himself. "A man has a right to appreciate his woman."

Harry and Ron laughed as Neville tried to bring the conversation back into focus.

"Any idiot can tell how happy Fleur makes you," he stated, leaning towards Harry. "Those who went through the war aged quickly. It was either that, give in, or be killed." Neville shook his head, "and you went through more than anyone else. It makes sense you matured more too."

Harry didn't know if he quite agreed that he had gone through more than anyone else. After all, Andromeda had lost everyone she cared about and George was still healing from half of himself being ripped away.

Aside from his initial uncomfortable reaction to Neville's statement, Harry tacitly agreed with the observation regarding the growth he'd gone through. He had certainly felt ancient after the war, like a dry husk barely alive. Some days he still felt that way. He expected he always would.

Running a hand through his hair, Harry blew out a loud breath. Affixing a grin to his face he looked over at Neville. "So… what's this I hear about a certain Auror being offered a Defense position at Hogwarts?"

Neville blushed crimson before attempting — but failing — to affect a stern countenance. "Damn gossiping wives," he griped in mock-outrage, "can't keep a single secret between the lot of 'em."

Ron laughed, sharing a sly smirk with Harry from the corner of his eye as he faced Neville. "Speaking of secrets," he began, humour evident in his voice. "What's this I hear about Mrs Longbottom and fertility potions?"

Spluttering, Neville knocked over his cup, sending frothy ale spilling about the table. Shooting a worried look about the bar, and a betrayed one at Ron, Neville flicked his wand to banish his former drink. "Hermione told you about that?" He asked frantically.

"No," Run chortled, "but why else would Hannah be coming over every couple weeks and head straight to Hermione's potion room in the back? Even through the closed door, I can hear giggling." Ron's smirk turned malicious. "Besides, I think Hannah's been walking a tad ginger- ouch!" Neville stinging hex drilled Ron in the centre of his forehead.

Harry watched in bemusement as Neville polished his wand, feigning disinterest. "You've gotten slow Mr Private Sector," Harry remarked to Ron, who was ruefully rubbing his head.

The stung man chuckled good-naturedly. "Leaving the bloody Aurors was the best decision I ever made, aside from pulling my head outta my arse about Hermione." Ron scratched the red beard starting to grow on his jaw. "Now that Nev's leaving, the only Auror from our year left is Terry Boot."

Neville nodded. "He's been my partner since you left. Solid man with a good head on his shoulders. I imagine he'll lead the department eventually. We got some fresh recruits this year, more of the Potter-wave. I imagine half will either drop or get ousted by the training."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Can you stop using that ridiculous term? It makes me cringe."

Ron made a noise of disagreement while Neville shook his head. "Blame the Prophet for coining it," the redhead said.

Harry's mood instantly soured. "I do," he whispered venomously.

He missed the distressed look Ron and Neville shared.

"We heard you tried to become the majority owner," Neville said tentatively, treading cautiously into an obviously sore subject.

Harry's jaw clenched. "Got close," he forced out. "Bought every share I could till I hit sixty percent. Turns out when the owner died he willed the rag to his grandson who made sure that when he went public the stock he retained was Class A, giving him extra votes even with less stock. Inbred bastard," he snarled.

"Class A?"

"Means that my stock, Class B, gets one vote per share, while his Class A stock gets a hundred votes a share. So, he can outvote me even with less stock overall."

"Tough mate," Ron said. "At least the Quibbler's starting to take away a good chunk of the Prophet's readership. The only two interviews you've done being their exclusives have helped."

Harry nodded as his temper cooled. "Xenophilius retiring after the war seemed to make the writing less… bizarre."

"Still see pretty hilarious articles about Stubby Boardman occasionally though," Neville chimed in.

"Yeah," Harry remembered fondly.

"Maybe that is why the Prophet is always after you? They're miffed they had to print a second-hand story citing the Quibbler," Ron pointed out.

Harry grunted. "Well, they can go bugger themselves."

"You got that Barnabas guy chucked though, right?" Neville asked.

"Yeah, him and the writer of the article for me to pull back my lawsuit."

"So how did the rag print all this shite about Lili burning a muggle school down?"

"The owner is peeved I tried to take over the Prophet, I'm sure he was delighted to drag my family through the mud. Besides, it isn't like they have to come to me before each edition."

"Bloody hell. I'm sorry, mate. Even Gin said she liked the person they had to take over. It was the sports column's department head apparently." Ron added.

"Well, she apparently didn't learn to stay out of my family's business," Harry muttered harshly.

"Sounds like she didn't have much choice in the matter. Everyone has a boss, even Harry Potter did... when he was working."

Harry rolled his eyes, his clashes over regulations with his Auror Head were legendary.

"Anyways, what's her name — Joanna something — apparently stormed the Editor-in-Chief's office with Ginny to protest the article they printed about Lili awhile back but I doubt she could do the same against the owner."

"Actually," Neville interjected, "I heard from Hannah that she resigned in protest yesterday. Came by the Leaky Cauldron for a pint midday." The man's face turned serious. "Also, you should know, we found Barnabas's body today. All it really does is confirm the link we already suspected with the Ministry worker."

Smothering the guilt that pinpricked him, Harry turned to Neville. "Tell me about what you've found so far."

Neville rubbed his jaw while surreptitiously casting a Muffliato spell. "Look, I'm not supposed to say anything, even to a former Auror."

"You're leaving the force."

"It's the principle of the thing."

Harry glared.

Auror Longbottom raised his hands in a placating gesture. "What I can tell you honestly isn't much anyway. The two you snagged were low-level. Actually, weirdly low-level considering the crime." Neville took a sip of his ale. "Weren't even on Auror radar, Magical Law Enforcement Patrol officers were the ones to identify them."

"What were they on for?" Ron asked curiously.

"Mostly illegal potions, some extortion here and there. Apparently, they ran with a darker crew during the war - Muggle head sellers and the like - but no one had anything definitive to stick them with."

"That's supposed to be low-level?" Harry sniped angrily.

Neville rolled his eyes. "Not my call, mate."

Ron took up the conversation as Harry mumbled peevishly into his glass. "Any idea what caused them to graduate to attempted kidnapping?"

"None. Other than greed from an undoubtedly large ransom. Aside from the cloaks and Death Eater masks, the clothes they had on underneath had certainly seen better days."

"You really think desperation from poverty caused them to attack the Potters of all people?" Ron questioned.

"Hell, I don't know. All of England seems to be up in arms. The Sentient Being Act might have passed the reformed Wizengamot but it didn't change the minds of the people."

"Try the whole world," Harry interjected, re-joining the conversation. "The ICW has been dragging their heels and some nations have already publicly drawn lines in the sand. All the while, idiots are getting riled up by street hawkers selling amulets to ward off the 'Dark Creatures' that will undoubtedly be coming for blood."

"Listen, Harry, I know it is a ruddy mess, but did you really expect a millennium of bigotry to disappear with a couple of laws?" Ron responded.

"Muggles have even less cause to be divisive yet they still manage it," Neville added.

"No offence, but I don't think you two get it. You were raised as wizards, you were read the tales of terrible Giants, scheming Merpeople, and greedy Goblins as children."

Ron looked slightly abashed but perked up with a grin. "I preferred the temptress Veela stories myself."

Harry kicked him under the table as Neville laughed.

"That is one angle I've been thinking about though," Ron said, rubbing his shin. "The Potters are known the world over, making Fleur the most prominent Veela in the public eye and by extension her daughters. Think the Equalist agenda inspired some fanatics to make a point?"

Neville shrugged. "Good catch, we started ferreting out those leads just a day ago. Boot's idea, actually."

"The force may not be doomed after all," Ron joked.

"Any info about the spell that killed them," Harry asked intently.

"It isn't like anything that any of us have ever seen. It was the damndest thing, it acted like a twisted form of a magical oath. In that respect, it wasn't too dissimilar from the Dark Mark. But it seemed designed to kill the bearer at some sort of unknown trigger."

"It activated as soon as I caught them with a stunning spell."

"An oath shouldn't extract payment from an involuntary act though, like becoming paralyzed or divulging a secret under veritaserum. It's one of the tenets of spelled vows." Neville squinted, straining to remember, "number three or some shite, couldn't tell you for sure."

"I know what I saw Neville," Harry whispered, willing his friend to hear him.

Neville locked eyes with Harry, "and I believe you. I'm just explaining where we are and what we know. We're actually talking about requesting analysis from the Curses and Oaths team over at your wife's spellweaving institute."

Harry brightened, "Matilda is great, she'd be a lot of help."

"Yeah, well, don't get your hopes up. You remember how long Aurors talking about something had to happen before the bureaucracy would act on it."

Ron sighed, "too much red tape to get anything done."

"We make due," Neville defended. But his lacklustre tone left little doubt regarding his true thoughts on the matter.

"Any idea why now?" Harry quietly questioned.

"Not particularly, least nothing that stands out." Neville took another swig. "I mean, the obvious answer is the ICW proposal, but why wouldn't they have tried something before it gained momentum in England? Cut it off at the source?"

"Maybe they just couldn't get to their negotiation piece," Ron said gravely, "it's no secret that Harry's home is practically impregnable. If you can even find it. And only a handful of people know where it is and they can't reveal it voluntarily or involuntarily due to the tweaks Fleur did to the Fidelus Charm."

Ron's mouth twisted in distaste, "maybe they couldn't get to you till a routine formed out in the open, where you were vulnerable. It isn't like you and Fleur make a habit of spending time in public, especially wizarding spots."

Harry's blood ran cold at Ron's suggestion, it's accuracy sharp and obvious when spoken aloud.

Neville nodded and turned a speculative eye towards Harry before voicing his thoughts. "Anyone you can think of from the ICW that stands out to you?"

"Abbas, the Azerbaijan delegate wasn't a fan of ours. Or his Armenian lackey, Hayk, I think his name was. He was a shorter man, stout, bald, looked sort of like a human-ish barrel?"

Neville grinned and shook his head while raising his hands placatingly, "I'll look into them both. Anyone else?"

"Well, I wasn't all that well-liked, honestly. Quite a few ambassadors were unhappy or uninterested in me, which I didn't mind so much at the time." Harry chewed on the inside of his cheek. A stray thought wriggling like worms in the recesses of his memory. "Actually, there is someone that has been… well, slightly odd? But she isn't from the ICW. Her name's Olivia Ansley. I thought she was a muggle. Her son attended Hogsthorpe, but something just always seemed off about her."

"Off how?" Ron interrogated, forgetting he wasn't an Auror anymore. Neville rolled his eyes amicably.

"She seemed, this sounds dumb really, _too_ interested in me and my family." He raised his shoulders. "Just odd, I suppose."

"Sure she wasn't just into you?" Ron asked roguishly.

Harry scoffed in reply, shooting his friend the bird.

"Well, we will look into it. I leafed through the attendance list of the muggle families at Hogsthorpe the day of the attack but don't remember ever seeing an Ansley. But I'll take another gander," Neville supplied.

The Auror's eyes hardened before continuing. "And don't worry mate," he said, "nothing and no one will harm a single hair on your girls' heads."

Harry felt the first flicker of relief at the expression on the Auror's face. A smile that showed his teeth.

He trusted the two men across from him with his life. But his witches were a different matter altogether. How was he supposed to be a good father, a good husband, when he was the very reason they were constantly put in danger?

XXXXXXXX

Harry walked through the front door quietly. It was late and he didn't wish to startle either of his daughters. He'd stayed out far later than he had expected. In fact, he couldn't remember staying out so long since his daughters had been born.

He wondered if Fleur was still awake and if she would acknowledge his return. She'd said nothing to him when he'd told her of his intention to meet Ron and Neville tonight. A part of him realized she did not trust that he'd be where he claimed. That shame had singed even as her silence bludgeoned him.

A light was on in the living room, which surprised him out of his stupor. Movement in the room made him lurch forward, stepping into the glow of the lamps.

Blonde hair swished to the side as the woman on the couch turned to look at him.

"Hello, Harry." The voice was dulcet and gentle, uttered by a woman of surpassing beauty. Brilliant viridian eyes shone in an angular face framed by golden locks.

"Gabrielle?"

The young woman beamed, shifting to stand and face him fully. She wore a silver sheath dress that wove around her body artfully, undoubtedly one of her own creations.

"Fleur didn't mention you were coming by," he continued. His mind was having trouble catching up with his sister-in-law's unexpected presence.

"I imagine she has mentioned little to you lately." Suddenly, he recognized the light that shone in her blue eyes and the too-wide smile.

His back stiffened instinctively. "No. I suppose she hasn't."

The Veela rounded the couch and stood on her tiptoes so she could kiss his cheek in greeting, her hands resting on his shoulders. "It is good to see you," she uttered the pleasantry in a brittle fashion, her fingers pressing slightly too hard into his flesh.

"You are, of course, a welcome surprise."

"Hmm."

"To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Instead of answering, Gabrielle walked away from him. Her hips swaying in the inducing way that came effortlessly to her kind. She came to a stop before the fireplace mantle, long fingers tracing the happy memories embedded in picture frames.

When she spoke, her voice was confident and assured. "I love my sister."

He waited but nothing else was forthcoming. "As do I."

She whirled on him, the glass of cordiality shattering in her impassioned fury. "Then show it!"

"Gabby—"

"Shut it, Harry."

Wisely, he closed his mouth. The youngest Delacour was a hellion when roused, any interjection on his part would only deepen her wrath.

"You've really cocked this up," she muttered ruthlessly, pacing back and forth in front of the hearth. "When you asked Fleur to marry you, do you remember what I said to you then?"

"Yes—"

"I told you that if you ever hurt my sister I'd break your foolish English head."

"I rememb—"

"Yet here you are, in all your glory. I've not seen my sister so heartbroken since Beauxbatons."

The words sliced him open like a scalpel. A truth made brutal by its blunt delivery. He had known it, in his heart, but to hear the words openly spoken pained him all the same.

"I made a mistake," he spoke quietly. And I'm paying for it, he added to himself miserably.

"More than one."

"Yes, more than one," he agreed.

"You've put me in a tough position," Gabrielle said as though she didn't hear him. "I made a promise to beat you black and blue years ago but now I'm the godmother to your daughter. She'd never forgive me if I put her papa into the hospital."

This time, Harry kept quiet, letting her tirade wash over him. It mixed with the self-recrimination that had been eroding his gut since he sat in the mud outside of a Death Eater's abandoned home.

"So instead, I'll give you a chance. Tell me how you are going to fix this and if I'm satisfied I'll let you off lightly." The cold gleam in her eyes did not assure him of her definition of 'lightly.'

Regardless, he soldiered on. "I'll apologize for my actions and keep my promise to her."

A promise that was already broken but hopefully not irreparably so. He had no illusion that Gabrielle was uninformed regarding the strife in the Potter household. Fleur and her sister shared a bond that transcended mere sisterhood. They told each other everything.

"Too little," was the fiery girl's reply.

"It is what I can offer. Everything else will have to come after through my actions." He held out his hands pleadingly. "I admit that I've behaved wrongly but I still believe I'm in the right regarding my daughter's safety."

An explosion of French curses erupted from the statuesque blonde. "Even after hearing Fleur and I's history, you'd intern your daughter to the same fate?"

"It won't be forever," he scathingly replied, his own frustration roused.

"It will be long enough." She glared at him hotly from across the room. All of a sudden the Veela deflated. Her forceful presence shrinking was shocking enough that he started forward to embrace his sister-in-law. He paused instead, arms half-raised awkwardly.

Like a sail losing the wind, she stood limply by the fire. Gabrielle Delacour was a strong woman. Rarely showing her vulnerability, yet now she wilted. A woman who had fought and clawed her way into an industry that detested her very species. In the name of 'unfair advantages' she'd had doors slammed shut against her. Even so, she worked herself to the bone to see her dream to fruition.

Some would see the rose. Harry saw the roots.

"You've heard the stories but I don't think you understand. Not really," she whispered. Her eyes drifted towards his face, her blank look exposing how lost she was in memories.

"When I went through Beauxbatons I was the 'Failed Champion's sister,' an infamous Delacour, but most of all, a creature. Fleur was lucky that she found fellow misfits to befriend. I had no one. None bothered to reach a hand out to me until fourth year when older boys took notice of my ' _development_ s,'" the word was spat hatefully. "And I, naive and lonely, thought their extended hand to be genuine."

This was a story he'd never heard. His bones chilled to the marrow and unease prickled underneath his skin. He felt itchy and rebelled against his still state. He wanted to move, wanted to do _something_ , but there was nothing to be done. Not now, years after the fact.

"Do you know why I could not recognize their fake friendship? Why I fell so gullibly for those who cared nothing for me? You already know the answer, Harry. Would you have Lili or Fayette be so blind?"

He latched onto a question rather than think about the offered tragedy to consider. "Fleur attended muggle school, why didn't you?"

"A war started when I was eight. You remember the fight father put up when Fleur returned to England. You really believe he'd allow his youngest daughter out of his sight?"

Silence stretched like a ravine between them. He had always loved Gabrielle, the fierce, protective, strong-willed woman that she had become and the shy, too-quiet girl she had been.

Choices and consequences.

He didn't want to know, not truly. Yet even so the question attempted to flee his mouth. "Did they… are you…" he floundered ineffectually. His mind refused the words that came to him, his tongue felt too clumsy to form them.

"All they received for their efforts were charred clothes and singed pride." She sniffed disdainfully. "But their damage was felt regardless."

"I never knew. I'm sorry."

"I'm stronger now," she stated bluntly. Her fists were balled tightly at her side as she stood with her feet firmly planted to the floor. "I'm better for it."

He couldn't help worry that she was trying to convince herself rather than him. Even so, he remained unconvinced. Surely, his daughters would have the benefit of having peers whose parents had fought alongside their own. Family friends, and pseudo-cousins alike. Would that be enough, he wondered? Would he be willing to take that gamble?

A louder voice shouted from a corner of his mind that his daughter's safety was paramount, that a few years meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.

Yet memories of watching Dudley play outside with his friends through the glass of a window he was cleaning rose unbidden in his mind. He had never been allowed friends before Hogwarts and even there he made few. Truthfully, he never knew how. Never trusted himself enough to try. He'd all but bumbled his way into a friendship with Ron and Hermione. It had been as simple as falling. As picking the right compartment.

Similarities and hard truths were evident yet he pushed them aside.

Harry took a few steps forward so that he could wrap the rigid form of Gabrielle Delacour in his arms. He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. "I am sorry, truly," he said. "That shouldn't have happened to you."

She relaxed slightly in his arms, some of the fight leaving her body. "I know you are, Harry. Please understand that Fleur and I just want the best for them. You do too, I am not blind to that. But surely there is a middle ground that can be reached? I hate to see you two fight. So do Lili and Fayette."

"I'll try," he promised as they held one another.

"You better," she retorted, squeezing the skin on his side in a painful twist before giggling madly.

XXXXXXXX

Harry trudged his way upstairs after saying goodnight to Gabrielle. He felt worn to the bone, his mind was sluggish and his bed called to him siren-like.

Even so, he opened the door slowly, hoping to not disturb Fleur, who he assumed was sound asleep.

He was wrong.

She sat in a curled position, her back leaning against the headrest with her legs drawn up to her chest.

They stared at one another.

Harry broke the motionless regard first by slipping fully into the room and shutting the door behind him.

The silence was next to shatter.

"I don't want to fight anymore." The words came easily but the anxiety for her response remained. Would she forgive him? Would she understand? And if she didn't, how would he regain equilibrium? Without realizing it his identity had slowly but surely become rooted in his devotion to Fleur Delacour. He was her husband and the father to her children. Without the stability of their relationship, he felt unmoored and listless.

Luckily her words seemed to come equally as freely.

"Nor do I."

Her tone was cold and the truth, he knew, would undoubtedly thaw her current state. He'd prefer the heat of her anger to the chilly distance that had come between them. Deciding he preferred being brave and foolish to dishonest, he spoke. "I've been following the case, trying to track Dolohov."

She rose from the bed like a phantom from a grave. Her silver hair and white dress appearing spectre-like in the muted light of their bedroom. Without looking at him she busied herself with the menial task of putting away clothes from a full laundry basket near her dresser.

Finally, she spoke. "I know."

Her tone was still emotionless. A bad sign. "It was wrong of me, I broke my promise to you."

"Yes, you did."

Feeling a smidge of irritation as she continued to put her laundry away so nonchalantly, Harry spoke. "Can we please talk about this?"

She turned to him. "I tried to talk to you, I told you how I felt and what I wanted. Even reminded you of a promise you gave me. You disregarded it all and went after a man who wants you dead. What more do you want? You put yourself at risk against my wishes and in doing so you disappointed and hurt me. What? Did you expect me to scream and rage? I know you, 'Arry. I knew the moment Lili was put in danger this was how you'd react."

His wife took a shuddering breath. Harry's heart turned inside out at the emotionless look in her eyes. It was something he had never seen before. There was no doubt in his mind that it would haunt him.

"Maybe I don't want to talk to you, 'Arry. I'm tired of talking, it seems to do me little good."

"What do you want me to say? That you were right and I was wrong?"

"It isn't about who is right or wrong. There isn't some tally or an awarding of points. This is a relationship and how we act towards one another is what matters, not victories and follies."

"I'm sorry."

"Are you no longer going to follow Dolohov?"

"I won't."

"What of Lili, will she be allowed to go back to school next year?"

His blood pressure spiked, "no."

She cocked her head to the side, "I'm tired of sparring with you, 'Arry." Fleur breathed in and out slowly and reached up to knead the back of her neck wearily. "Lili is distraught enough without her parents putting strain on her. We have Angèle's gathering this weekend, let us get through that first."

"Can we be normal around each other? Put this off for a while yet?"

"We need to be a united front for our family and ourselves. We both want what is best for our daughter, I see little point in fighting tooth and nail over what will happen in the future." She gave a strained but soft smile. "Besides, we both know you will come around to my point of view."

He weakly grinned, latching on to the hope of compromise. "I suppose empirics are on your side."

"We will get through this, mon cœur. Together. Eventually, even this will be overcome."

"Time heals all wounds," he replied absently, waving a hand in the air with little energy.

Fleur gave him an eerie look that raised the hairs on the nape of his neck. "Perhaps. But scars remain."

XXXXXXXX

The days leading up to Fleur's cousin Angèle's baby-shower were the best in a long while. The relationship had remained stilted at first but the earnest joy brought about through proximity with one another smoothed the awkward edges away.

They had not buried the problem nor had they forgotten it. But a compromise had been formed in order to help their children find normalcy, even when it eluded their parents.

Lili had slowly been brightening, her smile coming easier and fuller. Although, she still asked after Jasmine often. Harry had not yet found a way to tell her the truth, only insisting that it wasn't safe yet to see her muggle friend.

Harsh retribution awaited him for the lie, he could feel it hanging overhead.

Even so, the Potters returned to a more familiar routine. Harry and Fleur laughed and joked with their daughters and the home seemed to regain the warmth it had lost.

That ended abruptly when Fleur's boss Almeida arrived through their floo a scant three days later.

She was an elderly woman who had known both the Flamels and Dumbledore, she had even undergone a Transfiguration apprenticeship with Headmistress McGonagall when they were young. Rumor had it that the two women had even loved and lost the same man in the war against Grindlewald more than half-a-century ago. Now they drank tea together every sunday.

The Spanish woman had a timeless grace to her that had always drawn strangers into her orbit. She had a scathing wit and a sharp tongue that she used judiciously. All those attributes were now missing.

She looked ancient, weary, and drawn. The wrinkled skin of her face seemed sunken and her eyes dull. Gray hair was cut short atop her head and her robes had the rumpled look of being hastily donned.

Almeida had been the youngest to ever run the Edrith Spellweaving Institute, a veritable genius of Transfiguration and Alchemy. She had fought in three wars both Muggle and Magical. Had buried three sons and two husbands.

Now she just looked old.

Harry beckoned her into their home and out of the fog. The mist clung to her limbs as she passed over the door's threshold, like spectre's fighting to keep her in their grasp. She sat heavily upon the couch cushion as Fleur and Harry exchanged bewildered looks.

"Ophenna is dead," she said without ceremony, her tone oddly blank.

Fleur gasped, her look of shock making Harry question why the name was so unfamiliar to him.

"What happened?" His wife interrogated as she moved to sit beside her mentor and employer.

"She was found dead today in the Ward Department. Ernst is missing."

That name _was_ familiar and it turned Harry's stomach. The German man had always been particularly interested in Fleur, his vile comments about her promiscuity and heritage had caused numerous clashes. They had not been allowed to work together until the most recent project when both their expertise had been too important to keep separate. Even so, Ernst's superior, Desmond, had always been required to play buffer between them.

"He's missing? What do you mean?"

"Ophenna was found by Cordia when she came into work this morning, there were signs of a struggle. She notified the authorities and me. We've spent all morning checking on all the Institute's employees. Ernst is the only one unaccounted for. His flat is completely empty in Berlin."

"But why would he…" Fleur trailed off, confusion evident.

Almeida shook her head. "It isn't my place to speculate. I'll leave that to the detectives. We need you to come in and make a statement, the Polish authorities want to speak with you." The woman's voice was flat and monotone. She rattled off the information in a sort of robotic way. Shock. Disbelief. Harry had seen such reactions often.

"The matter crosses Ministry lines, has the ICW been notified?" He asked.

She nodded wearily. "They are there too. I said I'd come to collect you both since I'm the only one who knew how to contact you."

Harry met Fleur's eyes and she gave a shaky nod.

"Alright," he said, pulling out his wand. He moved to send a Patronus message to Gabrielle who had taken the children down to the river to collect stones.

Meanwhile, Fleur helped Almeida rise and amble to the door so that the three could set off for the property's ward line where they could apparate freely.

The day was bright but cold. Autumn had well and truly come, her arrival heralded by leaves, which had completed their annual metamorphosis from green to the Gryffindor colours of red, gold, and yellow.

The rambling hills and forested grounds were beautiful, a small paradise away from the dangers and hardships of a world rapidly closing in on them. He had fallen in love with the land as soon as he'd seen it. Had imagined children laughing and playing across the forested grounds. So much room, so very free. Now he felt boxed in.

Harry couldn't help but speculate what had caused the sudden escalation of events, had it really been his idealistic attempt to create a better world for his daughters? To become involved in the very society he'd secluded himself away from?

What was the recourse then? Was he supposed to stay sequestered away, never voicing an opinion or advocating for what was right for fear of retribution?

Is that the lesson he wanted to impart to his daughters? To take a stand meant risking everything. He wasn't sure he was strong enough.

Just because he wanted no part in politics or fame did not mean they had no interest in him. Perhaps he'd been a fool to believe otherwise.

XXXXXXXX

Poland was cold. Snow had fallen heavy and thick about the country for weeks now, a blizzard of unusual strength showcasing its formidable tyranny against Magical and Muggle alike.

Toruń was a gorgeous city, even submerged in layers of clogging snow. The red-brick was eye-catching as it glowered from beneath its frozen adornment.

The city was a gorgeous treasure of Europe and a hotbed of magical exchange ever since the Fifteenth Century when the Edrith Institute was founded. Spellweavers around the world would travel here to unveil their latest achievements or attend theoretical lectures. Many of the most commonly used spells had been made here and dispersed throughout wizarding kind.

Harry preferred coming to visit his wife and partake in the pierniki, a treat made artform by the 'gingerbread city.'

It was a rare day indeed that Fleur did not manage to bring back the cinnamon treats home or at least the detritus of them. He'd often teased her for the gingerbread crumbs littering her work robes or flavouring her lips.

They had apparated directly to the Institute's courtyard, which sprawled grandly, unblemished by the snow that covered the muggle buildings surrounding it. Edrith Augustyn, a Polish Sorceress credited with creating the Muggle-Repelling charm, had first exhibited its effect in this very location centuries ago. It was in her honour that the Spellweaving Institute had initially been formed.

The building itself was imposing, standing tall as a majestic testament to the skill of ancient stonemasons. It was formed in a sort of c-shape, with a tower on each end and a central one standing high and proud; each tower representing a different grouping of disciplines.

However, he was not here to bask in the sights. Reality came knocking as soon as he regained his equilibrium from the apparition as ICW and Polish authorities closed in around his group.

"Agent Maja," a no-nonsense Law Enforcement agent stated as her form of introduction, flashing her badge briefly. The woman had honey-blonde hair that was wrapped in a severe bun and hidden beneath her uniform's hat. "And this is Mal-Chin from the ICW." She gestured irritably at a handsome young man who looked barely old enough to be out of school.

"Hey," he said informally, stuffing his hands in his pockets and rising up on the balls of his feet. His ICW badge was pinned on the right side of his chest denoted his rank and country of origin.

"I've not been to Korea before," Harry said, filing away the man's high-rank away for later. "But I've heard lovely stories." He glanced down at Fleur and Almeida, hoping his small-talk would give them a chance to regain their footing. Both still looked rather lost.

"They are true, I assure you," Mal-Chin replied cheerily, "and don't worry, I've not been to England either." The Translation charm buzzed harshly in Harry's ears.

"Yet here you are in Poland."

"Yes," the man looked around curiously at Toruń's architecture, "here I am."

"Enough of this nonsense," Maja interrupted crossly. "There is a woman dead and a man missing. Tell me what you know of Ernst."

Fleur stepped forward dutifully and began to speak. "I've known Ernst for around six years now, he joined from a German research team called, well I'm not entirely sure, but I believe it was 'something-Gedanke.'" She paused to collect her thoughts. "He was an eager man who wanted to prove himself but disliked no longer being the smartest person in the room. There were a number of complaints filed initially against him but he seemed to even out after awhile."

"Did you ever file a complaint?" Maja interjected.

Fleur gave her a hard look. "I imagine you already know the answer to that. Yes, I did. He seemed particularly interested in me over the years and Almeida eventually thought it prudent to separate us as much as possible."

"What was the cause of the conflict?"

"He wanted to test out theories he'd heard regarding Veela."

"I'm sure he did," the Polish Officer muttered. Fleur's eyes tightened. "Any violent outbursts?"

"None that I'm aware of."

"And Ophenna? What do you know of her?"

Fleur's face crumpled. "A sweet girl, she joined the Warding division just last year. She was quiet and typically kept to herself but… has her wife been notified?"

"Mrs. Ishmey was told earlier this morning of her wife's passing."

"They were in the process of adopting… Ophenna was so excited," Fleur said softly to herself, her eyes downcast.

Almeida gripped Fleur's hand tightly for support. Harry reached over to pull her against his side. She sniffled and nuzzled into his chest briefly before straightening. Her chin raised while her spine became strong and straight.

Unbent. Unbroken. Her resiliency had always dazzled him.

"Did you ever notice bad blood between Ophenna and Ernst?" Maja continued the line of questioning but her eyes seemed less harsh.

"Not that I knew of. He was part of the Arithmancy department and she was under Desmond's Ward team, they had only started working together for the new project." Fleur blinked before turning to Almeida, " Oh no, Desmond! He was the one to recommend Ophenna to the program. Is he alright?"

The Institute Head nodded, patting Fleur's hand. "He was the first one I told." The woman's face became despondent. "I'm not sure he'll come back. He blames himself."

"If you ladies don't mind, I have a few questions," Mal-Chin commented with a polite smile.

Fleur motioned for him to continue. Harry watched interestedly, the young man was hardly old enough to have passed any Ministry's Auror exams, let alone be recommended and trained to join the ICW Investigation Team.

"You mentioned a project that Ophenna and Ernst were working on. I've been told it was some sort of ward designed to operate like the Goblin's waterfall, an erasure of magical properties, is that correct?"

Fleur glanced at Almeida who nodded.

Mal-Chin's boyish grin faded. "So, what would have caused Ernst to kill Ophenna and flee? Was there something wrong with the project?"

"No, we were making good progress. Actually, Ernst had just recently solved one of our dilemmas with the lines and I had fixed the charmwork for stability. We were just waiting for the Ward team to figure out the correct establishment pattern."

Harry understood Mal-Chin's conclusion when he saw the flicker of confirmation in the man's eyes. His heart thudded into the pit that opened in his ribcage."So, say Ophenna figured out the establishment pattern issue and the new Ward was completed. How much would such a thing be worth?"

Fleur looked taken-aback while Almeida looked downright confused. Harry cursed internally. Obvious. Stupid and obvious. The German man had always been unhappy with his lot, he was an ambitious sort that didn't like being a cog in a greater machine. Greener pastures were sure to have been calling him.

"I'm not sure I understand," Fleur said haltingly. "The Ward was nominated for the International Spell Creation Achievement awards but the Edrith Institute doesn't sell our work. The information gets distributed freely, we are a non-profit."

Mal-Chin tapped his chin as his eyes slid between the two women before locking with Harry's furious gaze. When he spoke, it was addressed to the women but his stare remained unwavering. "What was the Ward's purpose?"

Almeida jumped in, her voice slightly defensive. "The Goblin's waterfall is a genius invention but confined to running water they specifically enchant through their own inherent magic. It loses potency rapidly as well. They call it the Thief's Downfall but a Ward could be placed indefinitely at the entrance to a Ministry so that all Imperiused or Polyjuiced individuals would be reverted to their natural states. Additionally, the ward could be placed to control magical catastrophes. It could save many lives."

"A worthy endeavour indeed," the ICW Officer replied, a mocking tone barely hinted at in his voice. "But did no one stop to consider the other possibilities of such a Ward? What certain groups would pay to have a mobile enchantment capable of 'muggle-fying' any wizard or witch that steps in it?"

Fleur's eyes widened and her hand found Harry's which was tightly clasped. She trembled at his side, recognizing the implication before Almeida did.

"In fact," Mal-Chin continued, "any wannabe Dark Lord could use the Ward to bring down the defenses of an entire Ministry. A magical war could be won instantaneously." His eyes snapped back to Harry's. "Or a Death Eater could use it to break into even the most protected estates."

"You believe Ernst was working with Dolohov," Harry ground out. His own suspicions rising to the fore.

"Perhaps," the man replied, shrugging. "It is my job to investigate all possibilities. But considering recent events, this seems rather likely."

"So because they couldn't get to my daughter the first time, this is their recourse?"

Mal-Chin's gaze swept to Fleur. "Or they changed targets."

Her hand turned vice-like, making the cartilage of his own joints pop. "You think they killed Ophenna trying to get to me?"

"It is possible Ernst wasn't involved at all. I don't share the ICW's theory," Maja stated. "I think it more likely that this Dolohov fellow was waiting for Mrs Potter to come into work today and killed the first person to walk through the door."

"I called in to take a leave of absence late last night because my sister is visiting… I'm usually the first one to arrive in the mornings," Fleur whispered heavily.

Harry stroked her hand with his thumb. "This isn't your fault. We can't be sure yet what happened."

Regardless of what had occurred, however, Harry was completely sure of but one thing - his family was in greater danger than ever. Whether the target was Fleur or a Ward-turned-weapon, the threat to the Potters was only growing.

Ghosts and choices, consequences and nightmares. Would his family ever be free of them?

Would he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marriage is a difficult thing to write properly. We all make choices that affect ourselves easily enough but when you are a husband or wife your choices affect far more than just you. Parenthood doubly so. Try as we might, bad choices will inevitably be made. It is easy to love and be loved when times are easy but it is so much more powerful when you choose to continue onward together when times are hard. I've always found beauty in a union's resiliency and I desire to illustrate that through this story.
> 
> We may not always like the choices of other people, or in this case Harry or Fleur, but we should endeavour to understand them. My struggle as a writer is to properly communicate the why behind a character's decisions in an organic enough way that makes sense to the reader, even if they disagree with the outcome. I can only hope I've been successful.


	9. Price of Circumstance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Hello, thank you for reading my story. Please see my profile for information regarding canon compliance and a general timeline of my interconnected stories. While they are not necessary to read, my short stories add flavour and context.
> 
> Sincere gratitude must be given to LTCMDR Michal Drápalík and all the other great people who gave up their time to edit my story in the Harry/Fleur discord.
> 
> I own none of the rights, nor make money, nor gain fame, or anything else from Harry Potter.
> 
> Cheers.

Orange light crackled with a spiteful energy, spasming across the ground and illuminating the night. Screams and shouted words overwhelmed the nocturnal noises of owls, insects, and creatures.

Colourful flashes were spat out in a rapid display until the last green glow faded and darkness returned.

Blood soaked the ground, staining it a scarlet so deep no amount of rain would ever wash away the taint, the truth of what had happened.

The moon shone overhead, full and bone-white.

XXXXXXXX

Gabrielle stayed for a few days before her work necessitated her return. Her absence left a hole that was hard to fill by the Potter parents alone but their renewed partnership allowed them to surmount the issue tolerably enough.

Lili had slowly adjusted to sleeping on her own again, though occasional nightmares still jarred her awake. It was both a relief and a misery that she'd discontinued asking after Jasmine. Harry could sense that, although she might not understand his reticence, she knew something irrevocable had occurred.

Fleur had struggled after the murder of her co-worker coupled with the revelations at work regarding Ernst's betrayal. She had been unnaturally quiet the first few days afterwards. It was a great boon that Gabrielle had luckily been able to extend her trip a tad longer to help her sister find equilibrium.

Harry's nightmares had expanded to involve the bloodied silver of both wife and daughter now. He faced sleep as an enemy, wary of what cruel end to his heart awaited him in malignant dreams. Nightmares more vivid than any Boggart could emulate had frequently caused him to jolt awake at night, reaching for his wand.

That someone was after Fleur at work terrified him. She was _supposed_ to be safe there. The Edrith Institute took great pains to keep a secure facility due to all their secretive work and experimentation. Additionally, their own Wards and security enchantments were at the forefront of the field's study due to who worked on them.

Now nowhere was safe, if Mal-Chin was to be believed.

A Ward created to help people had been turned into a weapon of horrifying force. The ICW had quickly come to confiscate the Spellweaving team's materials on the subject and convened an emergency session to elevate the Ward to a restricted piece of Dark Magic.

The Edrith Ward team had been interviewed extensively on the project and most had been administered a Glawackus Compound to utterly remove all memories regarding the Ward.

Harry was watching firsthand how the Wizarding World attempted to remove dangerous magic. They'd not been successful with Horcruxes and he had little faith now would be any different.

Eventually, the week drew to a close and the listlessness pervading the Potter home dispersed somewhat at the upcoming chance to visit with family and friends at Angèle's upcoming gathering.

The day began with overcast skies but Harry held out hope that France would have a sunnier disposition.

He'd slipped back into the habit and role of chef, cooking up a light fare because he was sure the gathering would have a veritable feast to graze upon throughout the day.

The girls ate quickly, eager to be on their way. Fayette had picked up a bad habit of talking while chewing, the end result typically being sprayed food debris on her sister and the table. She would giggle madly and smile beatifically at any admonitions. Lili, meanwhile, had tried a broiled grapefruit for the first time. Her puckered face at the tartness caused Fleur to give a genuine smile. Harry felt it a victory. She was in higher spirits today than he'd seen her in a long time and vowed to do what he could to ensure it remained.

Fleur had looked forward to this day for so long, he desperately wanted it to go well. He held out hope that it would serve as a respite from the troubles that plagued their household.

His wife was resplendent in a green dress that dripped off her form. Her hair was braided in an elaborate crown about her head, wisps of hair tickling the sides of her face and neck. The dress had a mesmerizing pattern that seemed to swirl and shift with every movement. A slender slit up the side suggested but a glimpse of the long, white leg underneath.

The girls were formally dressed as well, though their sundresses looked far more comfortable than his own restricting suit.

Lili was bringing her violin and Fleur her cello. They'd prepared a duet to grace their cousin with as a gift. Fayette had sat still just long enough to make macaroni art for her offering.

Harry had forgone the arts and crafts of his family. Instead he was bringing a bottle of wine he'd found with a particularly funny name referencing a bird and temptation. He knew Angèle, at least, would appreciate it.

A jolt caused him to whirl around, a bubble of euphoria detonating within his chest. Sudden energetic joy infused his body and a foolish grin cut across his face.

Fleur smirked mischievously at him, tapping her wand against her open palm. "You looked like you could use some cheering up," she commented, eyes twinkling.

"I can't believe you hit me with a Cheering Charm," Harry replied jovially. "You minx, you promised you'd stop doing that." He laughed brightly even as the gears of indignant amusement turned inside his belly.

"No frowns today, mister," she retorted, wagging her wand at him. "This is Angèle's day."

"I know, I'm exceptionally excited about it!"

Fleur rolled her eyes. "Alright, maybe I overdid it a bit with that charm. I forgot how annoyingly chipper it makes you."

Harry couldn't even feel affronted on his behalf, instead he bellowed out a laugh far louder than the situation called for.

His wife winced, subtly shifting her body to slide away from him. He stopped her furtive, sneaking manoeuvre by lifting her up around the waist and spinning her around.

"I just adore you completely," he shouted, overcome with glee. Harry's mind was racing, he was just so positively happy to be spending the day with her, to be with his family and see the new-

The thought cut off abruptly and he set Fleur down on her feet. A headache was starting to form between his eyes so he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"A little too much oomph in that spell, I think, darling," he muttered.

Cool hands brushed his fringe of hair from his forehead. "Yeah, seems like it." She paused. "Maybe if you weren't so moody it'd affect you less," she teased lightly.

"Blame the victim, eh? Quite unbecoming," he grumbled without heat. She hadn't used a Cheering Charm on him since his dark moods as an Auror had pervaded their home. It had always been cheekily done and he'd returned the favour when she'd been pregnant and decrying her oval shape. The use of it now brought forth a fond nostalgia, snapshots of younger days fully lived blinking to life in his memory.

She pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Let's have a good day, hmm?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed as he laced his fingers with hers. "A good day."

XXXXXXXX

Harry and Fleur arrived spinning, one hand each on the scruffy hat serving as their international Portkey, with the other wrapped around a daughter. Fayette squirmed in Harry's arm, impatient to be set free and loose upon the world.

Laughing softly, Harry tightened his hold as he looked around the idyllic countryside of Southern France.

The Potter family began their trek up the stone pathway leading towards the tasteful manor house of Fleur's cousin, Angèle Meridot.

"Do you reckon they use magic on their hedges?" Harry muttered enviously at the immaculate rows symmetrically spaced out along the lane.

Fleur spared her husband an amused glance as she tugged along Liliana by the hand. "I'm sure they'd be willing to share gardening tips with you 'Arry, but I'd suggest asking their house elf rather than Angèle."

He chuckled, "Yeah, you're probably right about that. The Chudley Cannon's have a better shot at the League Cup than Angèle knowing a single household charm."

"Don't let Ron hear you say that, you'll crush his spirit."

"If Chudley's record hasn't accomplished that yet, I think I'll be fine." A small huff of discontent at his knees reminded him where his daughter's allegiances lay.

"Faster daddy," Fayette said, patting him on the side of the face.

"Don't worry chicklet, the new baby will still be there in a few moments," Harry muttered as he tried to straighten his askew glasses without dropping his precious cargo.

Giggling, his youngest daughter batted his hand away from his spectacles before righting them herself.

"Thank you, sweetie," Harry murmured in appreciation, squeezing her a bit tighter.

"Mama always says to make sure daddy has his glasses on, otherwise he'll get lost and scared," Liliana sang as she skipped along between her two parents.

Shooting a betrayed look at his smug wife Harry responded, "I'm not scared of getting lost, I just want to always be able to see my beautiful daughters."

"And wife."

Harry looked pointedly away from Fleur, nuzzling his nose against the round cheek of a tittering Fayette. "Daddy silly! No tickles," she shrieked.

A low-powered stinging hex landing on Harry's bottom caused him to yelp in surprise. He glared suspiciously at Fleur who had started whistling while twirling her wand in the hand unoccupied by Liliana's hand.

Narrowing his eyes at her, Harry ruefully responded. "And wife."

Sunlight glinted off Fleur's teeth as she beamed at him.

Just as they reached the front door, it burst open to reveal Angèle in all her glory. Faded blue overalls with a single clasp hanging undone off her left shoulder, a frayed white t-shirt peeking out.

She blew a strand of blonde hair out of her eyes as she looked over the new arrivals critically. "Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to show up? The Potters, I'm honoured."

Fleur gave an unladylike snort. "I should have known. Are we the only ones you told to dress formally?"

Harry glanced down at his slacks and jacket, hoping this meant he could forgo his damnable tie.

Angèle's biting of her bottom lip was all the answer Harry and Fleur needed. "I guess you all better come in then, most everyone is already out back," she said while opening the door wide.

Liliana darted through the open entry and Fayette renewed her squirming. Setting her down, Harry watched as she toddled off after getting an affectionate pat on the head from Angèle.

Fleur stepped forward to greet her cousin, kissing her on the cheek. "Thank you for having us, how is she?" Fleur questioned. "How are you?"

They received a brilliant smile in response. "She's perfect," Angèle breathed.

Stepping forward, Harry pulled his friend into a warm embrace. Kissing the top of the blonde head in greeting. "I hope she isn't perfect," Harry joked, "her mama needs to receive her penance after all."

Smacking his shoulder lightly, Angèle laughed. "I was as angelic as my namesake, I'll have you know."

"Your parents brought it on themselves, giving you such a name. How could you become anything other than a total imp?"

"Speaking of names," Fleur sighed, shaking her head. "You know she will never forgive you."

"What do you mean?" Angèle responded bemused. Harry saw a small smile of understanding flash before being smothered in careful aloofness.

He grinned as Fleur tapped a finger against her cheek. "Let me see, ah yes, you purposely named a Veela Léna?"

Angèle's cool demeanour dissolved as she failed to stifle her giggles. Visibly mastering herself, she looked down her nose at Fleur snootily. "It will build character."

"I pity you when she finds out its meaning," Fleur remarked, stepping into the home.

"Everyone is in the backyard," Angèle stated, pointing Harry in the right direction while grabbing his wife's hand. "Will you help me get the drinks?" The new mother asked her cousin, who nodded while shooting Harry an apprehensive look.

He shook his head, sending the detained woman a smirk of acknowledgement. He didn't doubt for a moment that Angèle would drag Fleur into some sort of trouble. She always did.

Leaving the womenfolk, Harry strode towards the direction he'd been directed towards.

Angèle had a gorgeous home, if a tad ostentatious for his tastes. Lots of whites and silvers made the place seem too cold and sterile for his liking, even if he could appreciate the fashionable style. Eclectic but exceptional pieces of art hung along the walls. Angèle's husband, Badru, a Swahili wizard, was an avid collector.

The sound of laughter and chatting filled the air as Harry moved towards the backyard. Sliding the glass door open and shut behind him, Harry took stock of his surroundings. Angèle's manor was beautiful, undeniably so, but she had bought the property for the garden. It covered an expansive lawn, with flowerbeds enchanted to hold blossoms of any type of climate. Buds from all over the world bloomed here, filling the air with cloying sweetness. Hedges rose chest high throughout, looming over the flowers they framed. At the garden's centre was a hulking granite fountain, a focal piece that unfailingly drew the eyes of any guest. Harry could easily admit how impressed he'd been the first time he'd seen it.

Harry's father-in-law Matisse, stood next to Badru and Angèle's father, Remy. Badru was beseechingly gesticulating in wild motions while the older men guffawed bodily. Catching sight of Harry, the man waved him over.

"'Arry, my brother, come here. I need your help against these ridiculous old goats," he shouted. Harry chuckled at his friend's distressed look as he strolled over. Badru was a rather huge man who hailed from Cameroon. His size a sharp contrast to his extremely gentle nature.

Harry waved at Apolline, his mother-in-law, who was talking gamely with her sisters Celine and Novalise. The three older women were marvellously beautiful, an elegance inherent to them that could only ever be gained from experience, wisdom, and maturity. Celine had the golden hair her daughters had inherited while both Apolline and Novalise were graced with silver.

The youngest of the sisters, Novalise, gave him cheerful smile and a tiny wave. Her hair was cut extremely short to her head and her hauntingly periwinkle eyes glinted in the daylight. She sat comfortably in a wheelchair.

Celine was the oldest, and the most like their mother, or so Harry had been told. She was tall even sitting down, her posture rigid. Baubles hung from her neck and wrists, while feathers and corded leather decorated her flowing hair. She was a wanderer, like her namesake, and never stayed in one place for longer than a month. Stories flowed freely like wine from a cask when she deigned to speak. The stopper of her typical silence giving way to the rich tales of her adventures, decadent and full bodied.

Estelle, the newly-minted auntie sat beside them, looking bewildered at the blanket-wrapped babe in her arms. The Quidditch player was muscular and stocky even tempered by the supernatural genetics of her family. She was a serious sort but well-intentioned and fiercely protective. And bald, Harry noted with some surprise. The golden hair he'd always seen tightly plaited missing.

Harry's daughters were tugging on the hem of Apolline's dress and chattering excitedly, their grandaunts listening indulgently to the side. He couldn't make out what they said but their rambunctious attitude infused him with joy.

Lili's inherited resiliency was heartening, her smile inspiring. She was a living example that wounds close, even while danger loomed overhead.

Reaching the circle of men, Harry clasped arms with Badru, whispering a congratulations upwards at the giant man. After ending the embrace, Harry shook Matisse and Remy's hands before playfully tugging Matisse's beard. "Old goat is right," he joked.

Matisse scowled as Remy burst into laughter again. "I'll have you know that women find my beard refined," the Frenchman snarked before an arrogant gleam came to his eyes. "Besides, I don't want to hear such jealous utterances from a man incapable of growing his own."

Harry rubbed his clean-shaven jaw regretfully. "Can't seem to grow one that doesn't make me look scruffy," he admitted.

"Maybe when you're older, eh?" Remy teased before laughing again. The French-Canadian wizard had an easy humour about him and a rich, full laugh.

Harry clapped Remy on the shoulder. "So, grandpa is it? Here's to hoping your granddaughter is less mischievous than her mother. For Badru's sake if nothing else."

Remy's smile grew to enormous proportions, a slightly glazed look in his eye. "Grandpa," he said lowly before his dazed look disappeared. "My daughter was an utter angel growing up, I'm sure Léna will be too."

Harry was skeptical, the man had a bias bordering on delusion when it came to the devil named Angèle.

Badru shook his head, obviously impatient to get back to the conversation Harry's arrival had interrupted. "'Arry, tell me the truth of my daughter's birth. These buffoons are no help. When I first took Léna into my arms I felt some sort of magic at play. I couldn't look away from her, the healer's had to hit me with a reviving spell just to snap me out of it." Badru suddenly looked worried rather than perplexed. "Was it some sort of accidental magic? I've read all the books and accidental magic shouldn't happen till she is two at least," he fretted.

Harry reached up to grip the concerned parent's shoulder. "No need to worry, it is perfectly natural. What these old coots," he shot an exasperated look at the two laughing men, "should have told you was that it is natural when holding a Veela chicklet for the first time."

The new father's face scrunched in confusion, "but I have natural tolerance, Angèle said, and I know occlumency."

"Neither of those matter," Remy interjected. "And it will never happen again."

Matisse nodded, "It happens to all father's who hold their Veela daughters for the first time. The primordial magic passed down through their heritage is recognizing the father and compels him to cherish and protect her."

Harry snorted, "Not that they need it." He peered over at his two daughters, chirping over the babe in Estelle's arms. "Adorable little things."

Badru visibly relaxed, letting out a great gust of breath. "So no danger? No accidental magic too soon?"

"None." Harry assured him, patting his elbow, just as Angèle and Fleur arrived through the backdoor. Gabrielle, followed closely behind them carrying a tray of drinks, looking like she had just arrived.

Fleur's long emerald dress billowed behind her in the Autumn wind that swirled by. The garden was charmed extensively to be warm year round but could do little about the gusts themselves other than keep their bite away. Her waist-length hair hung loose and her impossibly blue eyes snapped to Harry's as a smile broke out across her face. He beamed back at her, eyeing her graceful figure appreciatively and obviously.

She cocked an eyebrow at him in amusement before trailing her eyes up and down the length of his body. A coy smirk worn that promised much. With a twirl of platinum hair, she turned to follow Angèle towards the picnic table where the women sat.

Matisse took Harry by the shoulder, jolting him effectively from the lascivious thoughts he had been having about the man's daughter. Trying not to meet his eyes, Harry allowed himself to be steered over to a secluded part of the property, stopping on their journey for Matisse to pour himself a glass of wine from the bottles Angèle had brought out.

Sitting down on the picnic table, Harry and Matisse settled. Curious, he waited for his father-in-law to begin whatever conversation was on his mind.

Matisse swirled the liquid in his glass while staring at it absently. Harry watched him thoughtfully, it wasn't often the Frenchman seemed at a loss for words.

"Many years ago, I told you that being with a Veela was hard, do you remember?" Matisse looked up as Harry nodded affirmatively. "You've experienced some of it, correct?"

"Yes."

"The papers?"

Harry grit his teeth. His former jovial mood dying and turning black while his expression became thunderous.

"They've not said nice things about my granddaughter or her mother."

"No," Harry ground out. "They haven't."

Matisse took a sip of his wine and winced. "Not very good," he said under his breath. Meeting Harry's eyes, he smiled. "I think my niece likes to hide the good wine when I come by as revenge. I once informed on her to my sister-in-law after catching her sampling my cellar when she was fifteen."

Harry felt it prudent not to mention the bagged wine he'd seen Angèle gleefully pouring into empty bottles earlier in the day.

Matisse sighed. Harry followed his gaze and they both fondly watched Fayette and Liliana race around the backyard with their frolicking family members in tow.

"Dark creatures," Matisse muttered mutinously. "Honestly."

Harry continued to observe his daughters. Liliana scampering away from Gabrielle who gave chase, squealing in delight. Fayette determinedly tottering after the older girls, not wanting to be left behind. Liliana had a small scattering of feathers sprouting across her arms and neck from the excitement. They were becoming paler, Harry noted, leaving the grey hue of a chicklet for a familiar snowy white. Her Telling was fast approaching.

Matisse pulled him from his quiet musings, "did you know I was the first French Ministry official to be openly married to a 'non-human,' Harry?"

Harry scratched his jaw, giving a sidelong look to his father-in-law. "No," he said, "Fleur never mentioned it."

"I expect she doesn't remember. She was born a few years after I became Head Auror and was only nine or so when I was promoted to run Magical Law Enforcement." Matisse turned fully back to Harry, his posture demanding attention.

"I met Apolline as an Auror cadet. Veela in France are almost unheard of so I just assumed she was a beautiful woman. I courted her as I would any other. My naivety must have amused her. When she found out my job, however…" Matisse trailed off.

"Suffice to say, she was unhappy. She took me aside and explained what she was. To say I was shocked doesn't really do it justice. The Ministry at the time had a fierce no fraternization policy with non-humans, I could've lost my job just for being seen with her."

Harry's blood ran cold as the genial, warm man across from him seemed to shrink inwards. A flicker of pain crossed Matisse's face as he continued, "we decided to keep the relationship a secret. I would sneak her in and out of my home under the cover of darkness, we ate in muggle hamlets far away from any wizarding folk… It is my greatest shame."

Harry gripped Matisse's arm, who was visibly struggling. "No one can blame you for that. It isn't your fault," Harry said vehemently, "just the circumstances."

The older man gave him a watery smile in thanks before continuing, "I loved her more than anything, but I was afraid and I let that control me instead." He sighed gustily. "By the time I worked my way up to Head Auror the regulations had relaxed but no one dared be the first to come out as a 'creature-lover,'" Matisse spat the phrase. "I made her wait years, Harry. _Years_. Treating the woman who owned my heart and soul no better than a mistress. I knew it hurt her but I was weak."

Matisse looked over at the subject of their conversation. Apolline glowed in the sunlight, a gorgeous, regal woman who a stranger would never guess was nearing sixty, let alone a grandmother. A smile adorned her face as she bent down to ruffle her grandniece's hair.

The Frenchman's eyes softened. "I had been Head Auror for a couple years and had a solid reputation. My life was on track, headed to the top. Then I came home one day to Apolline crying. I was so afraid, thinking 'this is it.' She can't take it anymore. The secrecy, the pain." A moment of half-remembered fear bolted across the man's face before his lips tugged upwards. "Instead she rushes to me, laughing, tears streaming down her face. 'Pregnant,' she told me. I about fainted."

Matisse stared down at his clasped hands resting on the tabletop. "It hit me at that moment. I couldn't allow my daughter to live like this, to be a secret, to believe her father was ashamed of her." He looked up at Harry beseechingly, willing him to understand. "I wanted to shout her existence from the rooftops, not hide her away." His eyes drifted to Fleur, laughing as she spoke to her cousins. "She gave me the strength to do what was right, what I should have done for her mother years before."

The conversation paused as both men watched Fleur shove Angèle with her shoulder playfully. Apolline's posture making it clear she was scolding them both..

The conversation continued after a short while watching the women across the yard. "There were calls for my resignation after the Ministry Ball where I first revealed my wife. The death threats followed soon after. Aurors resigned in protest of my command." Matisse pinched the bridge of his nose. "I retained my job solely because it was clear England's Voldemort problem was becoming a European one." He barked out a laugh devoid of humour. "Hell, the Minister at the time pulled me into his office and told me as much. That a 'creature-screwer' was at least better than a Death Eater."

"Death Eaters had already started infiltrating the French Ministry?" Harry questioned.

"They were everywhere. After Britain's Minister, Eugenia Jenkins, got forced out of office, it became clear that Voldemort was starting to make inroads with purebloods in other nations as well. People forget that the Italian Minister of Magic elected in 1976 was basically a puppet for the Death Eater regime there, didn't even hide it really."

"Regardless," Matisse continued, "I kept my job because I had at least established myself as an anti-pureblood supremacist, which was a small list at the time in any nation's government."

Matisse met Harry's eyes again. "The death threats were horrifying. How someone could write such things makes my blood boil to this day. I still get them occasionally. There was a resurgence after you married my daughter, of course."

Harry jolted, "why didn't you say anything?" He began concernedly.

Matisse waved him away irritably. "Don't get off track, they aren't important and you aren't to blame. Don't be pig-headed." Harry's father-in-law paused, softened. "My point is, that throughout all of Fleur's life, she has been in danger. Reviled by fools who see a creature, hated by her father's enemies and those who see her as a political weapon against both me and the Equalist agenda."

"Where are you going with this?"

"Let me amend my statement to you from all those years ago. Loving a Veela is difficult, being a Veela more so, but being the father to a Veela is a nigh impossible task."

Harry's hand clenched on the tabletop, knuckles turning white. The faded scar reminding him of the importance of not telling lies noticeable from the stretching of his skin. "Your job may have put Fleur in danger but my name alone almost got Liliana killed," Harry hissed.

Matisse gave him an unimpressed look. "Fleur was nearly kidnapped twice. Once when she was three and another when she was seven." Ignoring Harry's stunned expression the older man continued, "she probably doesn't even remember them. But I do. I'll remember them for the rest of my life. What I'm trying to tell you, Harry, to use your words from earlier, is that you aren't the one at fault here. Just the circumstances."

The sound of giggling girls, carried over by a cool breeze, did little to ease the oppressive tension hanging over the picnic table where the two men sat, staring at one another.

"I'm scared."

The whispered admission was so quiet Harry looked up in surprise when Matisse responded simply. "Me too."

A slightly plump hand gripped the clenched fist Harry had in front of him, the fingers shockingly strong and calloused. The grip firm.

"You heeded my advice when we first met and I'm thankful for it. You've given Fleur a good life, yes, but one built on love and respect. When I was your age I thought I could keep Apolline happy by granting her a lavish lifestyle. Perhaps, I just felt guilty from my shame of hiding her away. Who knows? Regardless, I know now that all I managed to give her was nothing more than a gilded cage. Don't do the same to your daughter. A cage is still a cage, even if it is made to keep one safe. And don't," Matisse paused, ensuring he had Harry's attention, "blame yourself for the actions of monsters."

Harry sat silently, pondering Matisse's words. He scratched his nails along the textured wood of the picnic table. The fear was still there but the sharpness had dulled somewhat. He wasn't okay, that was still a ways off. But he was better. "Does it get easier?"

Matisse smiled, "not really. It is the curse of being a parent, I suppose. But," he gestured at the little girls playing tag, "they make it worthwhile."

Harry watched the little Veelas as they gambolled blissfully, and smiled.

XXXXXXXX

"I'm sorry."

The words hung in the air, Harry couldn't help but feel the stinging inadequacy of them. Fleur turned from her dresser, laying her hairbrush upon the wood. A privilege lost.

She glanced at him before speaking. "You are ready, then?"

He nodded. "I know you want Lili to go to school but I am still… I'm struggling with it."

His wife cocked her head at him, face impassive. "And you think I'm not? I am terrified, just as you are. The thought of my daughter being harmed keeps me up at night too. I even wake from nightmares as often as you do, so why do you think I take her safety less seriously than you?"

Harry breathed through his nose and grasped blindly for calm. "You seem less 'affected' than I have been, I suppose."

"That is a gross disservice to me, 'Arry."' Fleur's eyes blazed, an incandescent fury burning bright and brief in brilliantly blue eyes. "You mistake my hope for detachment. I want what is best for Lili, I want her safe, yes, but able to grow too. I don't believe them mutually exclusive. You do. That is the line in the sand you've drawn. Not I."

"I know. I'm sorry. It was what I foolishly believed, not what I now understand."

She quirked an eyebrow at his confession. "So next year? She can go to school?"

"We will figure something out," he agreed. "So long as the Dolohov mess has been resolved."

Cerulean eyes narrowed. "What if it never resolves?"

Beseechingly, Harry held out his hands towards his wife. "Then we will figure that out too. I don't have all the answers, Fleur. But I'm willing to try. Can't that be enough? For now?"

She nodded sharply. An accord struck.

"You've been a foolish man, my husband." Her clipped words clearly indicated her disposition towards him but her tone hinted at exasperated fondness.

"Yes, I have."

The admission caused a silver eyebrow to raise. Plush, pink lips pursed before speaking, "You've been spiralling since Lili's article, the ICW conference made it worse, and now the attack." A pause. "We've been out of the public view for so long, we've forgotten how out-of-control it can be, how it changes us for the worse."

"I've been in the spotlight since I was eleven, Fleur. I know how awful it can be." His rebuff was uttered without conscious thought, propelled by a twinge of childish annoyance at her statement. He wished he could take it back as soon as it left his lips.

"You have no idea how bad it can be," a tone devoid of emotion. Dead. Desolate.

"You are right. I don't." A backpedal too little and late. Pieces falling into place from conversations over the years, most specifically the conversations Fleur avoided.

"That Heir of Slytherin tripe your second year, the hatred of the houses your fourth year, the papers labelling you a liar in your fifth. At the end of the day Harry, they at least still considered you human."

"I know."

"Stop agreeing with me."

"Fleur I-"

"You have no idea what it was like." Her splintering shout froze Harry to the spot. "To have your race taught about in Magical Creatures class," her voice became steady as she angrily wiped the steaming tears from her eyes.

"To sit there while a male wizard lectures at you, incorrectly I might add, about the salacious creatures called Veela." She scoffed, tossing her long hair back imperiously. Violent, beautiful.

"To have him stand you up in front of the class as a third-year and ask you to 'transform' so everyone could see." Her voice, no longer a shout, was soft but venomous, "to hear the class laugh when the teacher got angry because the shift wouldn't happen. Because you couldn't even feel the Veela inside past the humiliation and fear."

With a wall of heat, Fleur's clothes burned away. Her thick, white plumage bursting out along her body. Her long, sharp beak forming from her dainty nose and pouty lips. Her blue eyes dilating, the bright hue darkening until the colour was indiscernible from black. Her delicate hands and tiny feet turned scaly and taloned. The vertebrae in her back stretched like a ladder, making her taller, formidable. Her hips grew fuller as the muscles, while always evident around her body, rippled and swelled.

And wings. Massive white wings unfurled from her back, making the room turn sweltering with their reveal. The heat increased and the white feathers that coated the appendages turned a metallic silver.

Each quill now shone like a mirror, replacing the softness with a cruel edge. Her wings retained their flexibility and their power of flight, even as the feathers became daggers. From afar, they would seem scaly to the unknowing eye; a Veela's most potent protection.

She was unbound. Magnificent as she was terrible. Unbreakable as she was vulnerable. Her allure swamped the room with its cloying heat. Boiling Harry alive and threatening to send him to his knees. The magic of her allure hummed so powerfully that he felt his bones vibrating to the tune.

He took a step forward. And another. The Veela watched in interest as he approached, head cocked to the side. His hand trembled as he reached out, slowly, cautiously; eventually burying his fingers in the now downy feathers upon Fleur's chest, over her heart. The armoured, mirror-like quills shifting white where his digits touched. Magic sang to magic. Like recognized like. Wings wrapped around him as Fleur gave a melancholic trill.

Harry's hand grasped Fleur's taloned one, bringing it up to the side of his face as he locked eyes with her. She always was so hesitant while shifted, he knew her fears about his breakability were well-founded, but he trusted her implicitly. He wanted to show her that she could trust herself too.

Eventually, with little fanfare, Fleur's form shimmered back into the more familiar visage of his wife.

She seemed small and shaken, evidenced by the slight tremor in her shoulders and hand that reached out to grip his own.

In the secretive, dappled cove of his heart, Harry had always viewed his wife as the sun. A fiery, warm star that burned with a bright passion so searing and live-giving that all was burned and re-made in her presence. She had long ago turned the barren desert of his desiccated soul into a verdant place all her own. Yet here, now, she was unquestionably the moon. Cold, hard, and terribly lonely.

When she finally spoke it was with difficulty.

"I allowed them to change me," Fleur's whisper dug a pit into Harry's chest, gouging him out, leaving a breathless wound in its wake. He hadn't heard such a broken tone since the war. "I hated myself for being different, I tried to repress everything Veela about me. I strove to be only a brilliant witch, but nothing more. I was lesser for it."

The words dug into him, burrowing through the muscle and sinew of his chest, forcing his ribcage to expand in order to accept the bitter realizations being spoke aloud. They made their home there, a heavy toxin that was as solid as steel, frigid as ice. The woman who had loved him so beautifully, who had married him, given him children... she lay bare and battered before him. He had been blind to the scars she bore, those she hid from the world. The locked away pain buried in the soil of her soul.

He raged futiley at the memory. A great gnashing of teeth and stomping of feet would do nothing. Nothing at all agaisnt the trecherous phantasm that slithered with the subtlety of shattered glass in Fleur's mind. Instead, he listened. It was all he could do.

"I was a pretty, prideful, hideous girl, 'Arry." Fleur seemed to withdraw inwards, shame evident in her body language. "I was willing to forsake everything, willing to let it all go just because I was tired of being called a creature. Willing to even forgo my Guiding. Giving up my chance to ever change fully into a Veela, to force myself into a dull life while all that was Veela in me shrivelled and died."

"Fleur, you wouldn't have. You-," Harry was cut off by a sharp gesture from his wife.

"I would have. I planned to." A look of self-disgust marred her stunning features. "I will always remember how my mother sobbed when I told her. She begged me, 'Arry," Fleur shuddered, "a mother begged her daughter to not ruin herself. But I would have."

The platinum-haired witch looked away, seeing far more than the room that surrounded them. "I would have given up much to be a normal witch, willing even to sacrifice the most magical aspect of myself, dooming my potential in the process."

Harry looked at her steadily, "without the Guiding, your magic… it would have…" he trailed off, his question evident.

"Most of a Veela's magic is intrinsic to her nature, rejecting it would have granted me my wish. I would have been nothing more than a beautiful, but otherwise ordinary witch."

"But the Spellweaving Institute, your Charms," Harry tried to reason, his mind whirling at the sheer loss Fleur was describing.

"I would have worked a simple job, found a nice man and settled down. Raised non-Veela children. I would have lived, even loved. But I would not have been whole."

"What of fate? Like those Veela romances we see on the shelves?" Harry questioned, only half-joking, trying desperately to find some sort of foothold. The blood was rushing in his ears, he felt lightheaded, sick. "You don't believe we were meant to be?"

"There is no fate, only decisions," she stated, voice assured.

Choices, he thought hollowly. Fleur had been his tether during and after the war, the simple thought of her absence sent him reeling. His mind splintered into weighty, frantic questions. How would he have survived without her? Would he have boarded the train had he not been secure in the knowledge that she waited for him elsewhere

"I can't imagine a life without you. Fate or no," Harry confessed with conviction, unwilling to give ground.

"And I love you for it," Fleur's eyes shone, "my romantic man," she finished fondly. "But you too, would have found someone to love and live with."

"I don't want anyone else but you. Nor do I want to walk on eggshells around each other anymore in private."

An amused look crossed the Veela's angular face. "An unfortunate idiom I'm willing to overlook this time…" A slightly bashful expression crept along her countenance. She picked up her hairbrush from the dresser, holding it out to him tenuously. An olive branch, a truce.

He reached for the brush but clasped his hand around her instead, pulling the bewitching woman against him. Blue and green found one another, while his other hand caressed the inhumanly smooth planes of her face. The woven ring of platinum on his finger burned hot, yet no pain was felt.

"I don't care for 'what if's' and 'could have beens,' all I've ever wanted since I was fourteen was you. That has never wavered and it never will. I am yours, completely and without end."

She did not answer him with words, pretty as they might have been.

Fleur's lips crashed against Harry's. Hard and yellow, unyielding but tender. The familiar taste and harsh nips splitting his being in twain. The half that responded in the now was confident and sure. Giving and taking with equal abandon. The other half, the half thrown back in the whirlwind of never-forgotten sensation, was kissing her for the first time. A young boy, broken and afraid. A quick kiss, at once both unsure of its reception and certain in its delivery had morphed into a claiming of absolutes. When a blue-eyed, platinum-haired woman had taken him in her arms and scooped out his insides so she could flood every hollow recess of him with searing love, joy and acceptance.

Two halves of the same whole.

The boy and the girl, the man and the woman.

His wife, shining like a lighthouse had beckoned him to shore. A little ship, daunted by the storm and wild waves left adrift. Unmoored and alone.

Now found.

He was finally home and she tasted of pomegranates.

XXXXXXXX

Harry woke to a lullaby.

Immediately recognizable as a song passed from mother to daughter that told the tale of the first Veela's courtship dance. The rich voice of his wife crooned it softly, barely above a whisper. She sang of love lost and found. Hearts bound together by silver twine.

He could feel her fingertips trace the locket scar above his heart with a brushing caress so delicate it brought tears to his eyes. Her touch was as soft as butterfly kisses but left a heightened awareness in their wake that smouldered.

Harry lay there silently; listening, revelling in the soothing touch of the woman who owned him. It had been a willing surrender, but a submission all the same. Although the twine that bound them together had grown taunt, he'd never believed it would snap. To think otherwise would go against the choice he'd made in the snow-covered forest nearly ten years ago. Any room for doubt would have caused him to never have accepted the braided band of platinum that rested warm and snug around his finger.

He had accepted the inequity then. Fleur was free to love and live but he would always be hers. Only ever hers.

A choice. A surrender.

Both without regret.

The lullaby reached its close, the euphonious melody slipping gently away as though pulled by the tide to fade into the distance. Fleur's fingers journeyed from the locket to the large lightning-shaped scar that had nearly taken him away from her.

It had happened in a different forest and involved a different choice. A separate surrender. But it too had been made without regret.

The flesh was smooth and silvery. Certainly prettier than the other gnarled masses of scarred skin that marred his body. She had brushed her healing lips across the surface of every inch of traumatized flesh at one time or another. Her eyes never wavering from adoration to revulsion at his misshapen, battle-weary form.

Scars littered his bodies like leaves upon the ground outside, yet for all his mangled brokenness, Fleur loved him.

"You did not wake during the night."

Harry let the sugared voice settle over him before opening his eyes. She was right.

His wife was nestled against his side, her form propped up by a cocked elbow, a hand supporting her head. Platinum hair fell about the bed in lustrous waves, filling the room with the aroma of spiced wood slick with rain.

The luminescent landscape of her curves was barely covered by a tantalizingly thin sheet that stopped just under her navel. His eyes made a slow sojourn over the tight planes of her stomach to the rolling hills over her hips and the deep valley of her side. The long expanse of unblemished, silky skin rose to the peaks of her shoulders and the sensuous slope of her neck.

He could feel the sizzle of her gaze as she watched him. It snapped and crackled over his skin with a simmering energy that made his blood thrum and pulse sing. Memories of reconnecting in the dark and professions of love offered between gasped breaths shivered down his spine.

Unable to resist, his fingers began their own quest, trailing across the glory so brazenly displayed. Lily-white skin flushed from his wandering touch, leaving rosy ribbons in his wake.

How long had it been since they'd indulged in the tender intimacy of morning? The sleepy softness of waking to one another's gentle passion? A day without was too long yet he had starved them both of the simple affection for far longer.

They were both, he knew, tactile lovers. Relishing in the emotive _feeling_ their partner's touch invoked. He had lived a childhood devoid of such fondness and she had similarly closed herself off from the unwanted advances during school. Now they could savour making up for lost time.

His hands made their delicate way to her throat. He could feel the spike in her own pulse underneath the pads of his fingers. Feathers blossomed along her shoulders and down her chest. The silver plumage eye-catching in the muted light of dawn. Pink lips turned yellow, blue eyes turned deeper like an abyss hinted at from the surface.

They drank in the sight of the other for a time, taking pleasure in the joy of being together again. Harry was reminded of the first time he'd confessed his ardour. How they'd danced underneath a sky so full of stars that the night lit up like the day. He'd been so overcome by her that it had slipped out of his mouth before he could stuff the words back inside.

She'd laughed gaily, never stopping their exaggerated waltz. He remembered how she spun from his arms, their hands still tightly clasped, her other hand arced gracefully away from her. How she'd looked at him with a smile and said the words back to him.

A river of memories swept through his mind of her, of him, of them. When they'd first shared a night together, how he'd been convinced that whatever tapestry their souls were cut from came from the same cloth.

The days, weeks, and months after the war when he felt hollow, shattered, and lost. He had retreated from everyone, seeking numb solitude. Yet Fleur had broken down the front door of Grimmauld Place, shining like the sun. She wore her sadness like jewels, her fierceness like a cloak. He'd been awed by her as she pulled him upright to crush against her chest. 'You'll never be alone again,' she had told him and that promise had been engraved into the soft flesh of his heart, stitched into the patchwork of his soul, burned into the skin of his ring finger.

"I'm pretty sure every moment in my life was for the sole purpose of teaching me how best to love you," Harry said, his voice husky from disuse. He'd spoken from the heart, overwhelmed by the scenes of the life he'd shared with the woman next to him.

Fleur smiled and she shone softer, brighter than an ivory moon. "You know…" she trailed off musingly. "I never believed in love, not really. I loved my family and saw how much my parents adored one another but didn't think I'd ever experience it so fully. But then I met you. And though my worries about our relationship took time to abate I realized something early on, something important."

Harry met her eyes as she spoke, hanging onto her words. "What was that?" He asked softly.

"That I trust in _us_ more than I trust in love. Life was much simpler afterwards."

His heart fluttered in his chest at the shy, beguilingly bashful expression on his wife's face. He placed his hand alongside her cheek and she hummed appreciatively.

She opened the eyes that had closed momentarily at his touch. Her lips quirking slightly at the corners. "I don't think I've ever asked." She paused hesitantly and he caressed her cheekbone with his thumb for her to continue. "When did you first think yourself in love with me?"

Now it was Harry's turn to still. He cocked his head to the side thoughtfully although the truth was ready upon his tongue. Deciding he'd had enough deception, he spoke honestly. "That is a difficult question to answer. I think, really, that there are two defining moments. The direct answer is that it was a day like any other."

Fleur tilted her head inquisitive, her eyebrows drawing together. He chuckled. "We were sitting together, sharing a sofa, and reading. I was working on school and you on your Charms Mastery. It was raining outside the window of Grimmauld Place and neither of us was speaking. But every time I looked up at you I'd catch you stealing glances at me. That was the moment I knew that everything I'd ever want to do… I'd want to do with you."

Her eyes swirled and heat suffused her freckled cheeks. Fleur leaned down to press a gentle but unyielding kiss to his lips. Their hands tangled in one another's hair but she pulled away before he could become intoxicated from her presence.

"And the other moment?"

He should have known she'd not let such a slip go.

"That day by the Black Lake with the wind in your hair."

She blinked at him. "After the Final Task?"

"Yes. After that night in the Hospital Ward," he went quiet, struggling to voice how she'd saved him. "You came to see me again and everything felt so different. I was lost and afraid but there you were. And every day since."

"Forever," she promised.

"Eternally," he agreed, his woven ring burning hot. Her eyes glimmered as she bent to press her lips against his once more.

"So," she said, a hint of amusement colouring her voice. "It wasn't love at first sight?"

"No," Harry said, chuckling. "You ensnared my interest certainly, but it wasn't until the day at the lake that anything changed." She stroked the scars criss-crossing his ribs and chest as he spoke. "I'd refer to it more as… a sort of resonation. A realization. Like, 'oh, I found you. It is going to be you.' And that was that. It just took my mind more time to catch up to what my heart had recognized."

The fingers stopped along a jagged curse wound emblazoned on his abdomen.

"I always knew you were a romantic since the day you left a poem for me on our bedside table," Fleur started but was interrupted by his groan. She flicked his nose lightly in response, chuckling. "It was sweet," she admonished. "But you always find new ways to surprise me." Her eyes warmed and a smile rose like the dawn, her expression breathtaking.

In that silken, delicate moment Harry's ardour darkened, turning possessive. He was resolved to never give the woman laying next to him with such a beautiful soul reason to leave. Desire crackled through his core. He wanted to write upon her skin what pages would blush to bear. Wanted the ink of his devotion to seep and settle itself into her very bones, marking her as his just as she'd so indelibly marked him a decade ago.

She grinned in understanding, in reciprocity, as feathers erupted from beneath her skin in response to her own quickened pulse.

Their shared mood took a craving, eager turn.

He leaned forward intently, locking eyes with the woman before him. They were both, simultaneously, predator and prey. He ghosted his lips over her jaw and up to the shell of her he spoke, his words came out as a honeyed confession, a darkened supplication.

"I want to make you _ache_." His voice low and forceful.

Fleur leaned over him, her breasts pressing against his chest so she could grip the flesh of his ear between her teeth. She tugged playfully. Her breath and voice were hot in his ear when she whispered her reply.

"Show me."

XXXXXXXX

The morning's golden-orange hues had brightened to the buoyant yellow of afternoon when the contented, restful silence of the Potters was broken by the humorous voice of Fleur.

"I think about your lips more often than I likely should. But less than I will tomorrow," she began, reciting the words of his poem painstakingly worked upon years ago.

Without hesitation Harry pounced upon her. Mortification affection guiding his searching hands towards her ticklish sides. She cried out in laughter, batting ineffectively at his chest and grasping fingers.

"You promised to never bring that up again," he chuffed in feigned betrayal.

"Come on," she whined, "it's adorable."

"I'm not supposed to be adorable," Harry responded gruffly. "I'm a man. We're supposed to be, I dunno, rugged and handsome."

Fleur gave him a blank look before bursting into guffawed delight. She stopped abruptly once she began snorting.

He smirked at her but wisely avoided the topic due to the grimacing glare she warned him with.

She reached up and cupped his face between her hands, rubbing her nose against the tip of his own. "My rugged, handsome, _adorable_ man," she cooed, breathless giggles slipping out between the words.

He grumbled but couldn't hide his beaming smile from her discerning eyes.

The mire and muck that he'd been stuck in for so long seemed to have dissipated, or, at least, lessened. No longer did he feel suffocated by the fear and anxiety. It was still there, it would always remain now that the bubble of luxurious peace had popped, but he'd realized he was strong enough to bear it. With Fleur by his side.

His family had shown him that. They'd supported him with words and actions, like they always had. They believed him strong enough and now… now he did too.

The daunting problems that terrified him hadn't been fixed and fear still nibbled at his mind and heart but he'd reaffirmed a simple but important fact. While some choices were out of his hands, others were his alone to make. Death Eaters had chosen to target his family but how he responded was entirely on him.

The simple truth was, he didn't like what his choices had made him become. Those knee-jerk reactions made from terror and panic had resulted in him becoming weak, foolish, and fragile.

Now he'd resolved to make a new choice. A better one. One that would make him feel like himself again. Or, at least, the version of himself he was happiest with. The Harry Potter that had been formed from meeting and falling for Fleur Delacour.

The magic-cancelling Ward presented an alarming threat but he had some of the smartest, most loyal witches and wizards in the world on his side. If they could make it, they could figure out a way to keep people safe from it.

Harry had decided to trust. To trust the Aurors, Neville, Hermione, Fleur, and himself. Though the answers may not have made themselves known yet, he was confident that they'd be grasped soon enough.

Dolohov would be found. The Ward would be countered and Ernst brought to justice. Perhaps, even the ICW would one day fix their commitment to the rights of Sentient Beings.

He hadn't been so optimistic since before the ICW conference, it was a nice feeling to return to.

Fleur snuffled in her afternoon nap at his side, cuddling her face into the crook of his neck. He turned slightly so he could kiss her forehead.

"'M not a turkey, you're a turkey," she mumbled in her sleep. Harry stifled a laugh and basked in an intimacy re-found.

Sunshine, brilliant and yellow, pumped in his veins, pulsed in his heart. The colour most favoured by Fleur coursed through him as he lay upon the bed he shared with her. She was bright as the sun, gentle as the moon, and the constellation of her soul gleamed unerringly.

The cosmic, universal force of her expanded infinitely and contracted with crushing delicacy around him. He wondered at the marvel that slept in his arms.

Fleur drooled as she slept.

XXXXXXXX

A week later found the Potters standing on top of a cliff face in Azerbaijan. The scene below was an affront to humanity, an abomination of wizarding kind.

Dried blood tarnished the ground below, whole rivers of it viewable from the darkened strip of land that ran between burned buildings. The bodies had long since been removed. But their panicked last moments had left a mark that remained.

Harry would ensure it remained. That the dread and terror felt in the village by the cliffside would never, ever be forgotten. He grit his teeth and clenched his fists so tight that his nails drew blood from his cut palms.

Unimaginable anger coursed through him and for a brief moment, Harry thought he felt his scar throb in phantom recognition of his fury.

Nabba was sobbing at his side, curled up against the ground. Her choking wails the only sound he could hear over the rushing of blood in his ears.

Fleur stood statute-like on his other side. She'd been mute since they'd received word and her silence was so deep that Harry believed her heart even beat soundlessly.

Her eyes looked almost grey in their sorrow, reflecting the ruined village in their opaque sheen.

Canavar, the government-mandated Reservation for Azerbaijan Werewolves lay before them. Huge lines had been burned into the earth in a sweeping circle around the village, the scorch marks almost appropo in their hellish use. Complicated runes stretched the entire length of the Ward-lines but the enchantment had since lost potency as their energy source was lost.

They had already accomplished their goal regardless.

A pogrom of horrifying size. A complete and utter cleansing of werewolf kind in Azerbaijan, done in little over an hour.

The Azerbaijan Ministry had sanctioned the attack on a full moon, right as the Werewolves began to shift. The magic-cancelling Ward had been drawn and activated during the phase, causing the villagers to abruptly stop midway through. The emerging wolf-side had apparently disappeared, bewildered witches and wizards remaining.

The massacre had begun during the confusion.

Nabba had been the one to notify the ICW after losing contact with friends in the village. Mr Akingbade had used one of the few non-optional provisions in the Sentient Being Protection Resolution to send an investigatory team.

An Emergency State of Affairs had been called shortly thereafter.

The Supreme Mugwump strolled towards the gathering on the cliff face. Hirene stalked next to him, followed by the stumbling form of Desmond.

"Harry, Fleur, Nabba," he greeted shortly, nodding at each in turn. "We should talk."

"Talk?" Hirene growled, her face ferocious and apoplectic. "There will be no talking. We tried it your way before. This is the result. Now we do mine."

Mr Akingbade moved to speak but Fleur's voice got there first.

"No," she said, her voice quiet but firm. "We can't resort to violence."

Hirene lunged forward and gripped Fleur by the shoulders, turning her roughly so they'd be face-to-face. Harry moved to intervene but Fleur reached out and stopped him.

"You can speak the pretty words of a pacifist all you want but it isn't Veela down there lying in a fucking ditch. They murdered children! Little children who hadn't even been Werewolves. They just lived here because their parents were forced to." Hirene's voice was bladed hysteria, cutting and frantic. Her eyes were wide and muscles bunched and bulged along her small but powerful frame. Fierceness given form and fangs.

"There isn't a single part of me that doesn't desire revenge," Fleur stated calmly, coldly. "I want the scum dead just like you. But that won't change anything. They'd just get replaced."

"Then I'll kill them too."

"Killing those in power will do little good, I should think." Mr Akingbade's voice drifted between the two women. "But we do have a chance to kill the ideology. This is the single greatest genocide of magical-kind since the 1300s. Even the most indifferent wizard will find this act disgusting."

"You would use the corpses of my people for your pathetic games of politics?" Hirene spat, letting go of Fleur's shoulders so she could face Mr Akingbade fully. "Choose your next words quickly and wisely." Harry was shocked to see her body begin to shift, tufts of white fur splintering out from her skin as her joints contracted and thickened.

A shift without the full moon?

The situation was defused, however, by the arrival of Barry who left the side of Almeida in a quick motion from where the two had been standing off to the left of the group.

Lanky, pocket-protector-wearing Barry walked quickly to his wife's side and wrapped her quaking form in his thin arms. He spoke quietly in her elongating ears and stroked her back in soothing circles.

The fur receded but the trembling remained.

Mr Akingbade looked completely unaffected. "The lives lost here will be the galvanizing force for further action. So that this doesn't happen again."

"Your rules do us little good. Paper won't stop this from reoccurring." Hirene's voice was subdued, a fire quenched by resignation while hatred smouldered beneath.

"Neither can you," Fleur said softly. "Even if you attack every Ministry that does something like this, you will not have prevented any deaths." Her eyes snapped to the Werewolf leader's. "And what happens to your people when you die? Maybe you get caught or maybe you pass of old age. But if all their hopes and protection rest on your shoulders then inevitably they will be left vulnerable again." She sighed, her hands rubbing her arms as though chilled. "At least the 'paper,' as you put it, can last."

"I know this is distasteful," Mr Akingbade cut in, "but perhaps there is a compromise of sorts."

Hirene turned to look at him, Barry's arms still wrapped around her.

"Abbas is currently on the run. Apparently, he and the upper echelon that planned the pogrom have fled the country once word that the ICW was getting involved reached them. They've been labelled as International Fugitives. But I could use some… contracted agents to locate them." His eyes turned hard. "Would such a temporary position interest you and your pack enforcers?"

Hirene's grin was dementedly wolfish.

Desmond inched further forward into the rough circle. The man stood roughly the same height as Harry did, but his shoulders were a tad narrower. His black hair hung messily about his head and he was dressed in a well-fitted blue suit. His glasses were chipped in one lens but Harry couldn't remember a time that they weren't similarly cracked. He was typically a gentle, politely intelligent man who'd always give candies to Lili or Fayette when they dropped by their mother's work.

The Ward Team Leader had always been kind to both Harry and Fleur and had been a key component behind helping Fleur become comfortable when she first joined the Spellweaving Institute.

The man pushed his glasses up his nose where they immediately began to slide down again. "I've finished inspecting the Ward lines." His voice was pained and his face tight. "They are unquestionably the Institute's project."

Fleur sagged against Harry's side in acknowledgement. Desmond sent her a sad, commiserating look. "I feel the same way," he spoke brokenly. "To think our work would be used… so barbarously." He took off his glasses so he could rub at his eyes. Harry felt for the man whose vision of stopping a Ministry incursion like Voldemort's from happening again had led to such monstrous events.

Mr Akingbade nodded. "Mal-Chin reports that multiple witnesses identified Ernst's photograph as the man who formed the Ward. He was working closely with Abbas's blood-purity group. The ICW agents are following the trail as we speak."

"And Dolohov?" Harry asked. "Was he here?"

Mr Akingbade shook his head. "We aren't entirely sure. No one claims to have seen him but I suppose he could have been disguised since his face is rather infamous."

Harry wasn't sure what the connection here was. Dolohov was a pureblood but was never the fanatic Bellatrix was. He didn't despise muggle-borns or 'creatures' like his fellow Death Eaters, merely found them to be beneath him. He'd joined for the chance to kill indiscriminately more than anything.

He suspected it didn't ultimately matter. If Dolohov wasn't working with Ernst initially, once he heard of a Ward capable of decimating any protective enchantment he'd attempt to make contact with the German traitor.

The target might not have been the Potter's this time, but sooner or later their turn would come.

Nabba wobbled unsteadily to her feet. "This is my fault," she moaned. "I told them to wait, to not attempt to escape from the camp. That the ICW Resolution would fix this." She pulled at her hair despondently, her brutalized face crumpling in dismay.

"You knew the Camp's Pack Leader?" Harry asked surprised.

The woman sniffled. "Yes, I've been making inroads with Azerbaijan after they started gathering Werewolves. Armenia has been doing the registry but hasn't started forcibly relocating anyone to a Reserve yet." She paused. "I thought this the more pressing situation."

"I didn't know they'd been planning to attempt an escape," Hirene noted, scowling. "If they had made it past the border, my pack would have accepted them."

Nabba began crying again, her one good eye leaking milky tears. "I know. I'm sorry."

"This is what we get for trusting in the Resolution. In the ICW. Pathetic," Hirene spat. She turned on her heel and stalked off.

Barry gave a gentle smile at everyone before scampering after her.

The scarred woman sniffled, pulling her cloak tightly closed. She looked terribly alone, standing there, shivering. Harry's heart went out to her. She'd seen her family torn apart by the very Werewolves she strove to save… and now, even that, had turned painful, and became a form of loss.

"You had been with Abbas during the ICW Conference, did he give you any reason to think this was in the works?" Harry spoke gently, not wanting to tear open wounds, but gathering information was key in order to understand what had happened. An attack of this scale had to have been planned well in advance. Perhaps as soon as the vote was clearly tipped in the Resolution's favour.

Nabba turned away slightly so he couldn't see her face as she dried her eyes. "No. I didn't hear anything. I wasn't even supposed to be there but I forced my way into the delegation. Armenia kept me close to make sure I didn't do anything outlandish but I wasn't ever included in actual discussion."

Harry cracked the knuckles on his left hand for want of something to do as he studied the situation from every angle known to him. Too much was unknown, the blank spots obvious and mocking, like attempting to solve a puzzle without reference and a good chunk of the pieces missing.

He voiced a question that caused Mr Akingbade and Fleur's attention to snap to the conversation and away from the ICW efforts below. "Why did they do this?" A pause as he rolled the question around his tongue. "I know they hate Werewolves but… to go to such lengths…" he trailed off uncertainly.

Mr Akingbade cleared his throat. "The geopolitics of this region have always been, well, let us say 'fraught' with interspecies conflict." He glanced apologetically at Fleur who nodded resignedly. "Azerbaijan and Armenia have been the battleground of numerous wars between Werewolves and wizards. There is centuries of bad blood essentially."

"It became much worse during Voldemort's rise to power." Nabba's voice cut in, her face still turned away as she looked out over what had once been a village. "Europe has dealt with the Pureblood problem more acutely than anywhere else but out here… it has always been human against non-human." She turned introspective for a moment before continuing. "We don't care much about lineage unless you are կեղտոտ, unclean. Voldemort weaponized generations of hate, galvanized the fragmented Werewolf packs, and granted them resources. Twice. The wars were horrible, the loss of life immense."

"But why?" Harry inquired. "Why would he care what happened here?"

"It was Orion Black's idea actually." The name quivered in the air with potent energy as Harry turned to Mr Akingbade. The Supreme Mugwump gave nothing away, his face stony.

"What does Sirius's father have to do with anything?"

"He hatched an idea during the first war that gained Voldemort's approval. Mudbloods, blood-traitors, muggles, the whole lot of them were little more than animals in his eyes. So, why not turn them all into the creatures he thought they were? His ideology wasn't unique really, Mr Akingbade mused, "when the first outbreak of Lycanthropy occurred Purebloods thought it a divine punishment for 'mixing magical blood with mundanes.'"

What sort of nonsense was this? Harry felt ill, as acidic nausea seethed in his stomach. His vision swam and his bearing tilted as lightheadedness overtook him. How were you supposed to combat such ignorance? Such groundless, foolish, _paranoid_ notions capable of surviving generations?

"The plan was rather simple. Werewolves are bound to follow their Pack Leaders, Imperious them and you have an army of magical-resistant bioweapons capable of spreading their plague. England, being an island, avoided a lot of the Werewolf wars throughout history. There are few Packs that call it home." Mr Akingbade threw his arms out in a grand, sweeping gesture. "Out here, however?"

"He could focus on England while the ICW was in a panic trying to control a new war and pandemic simultaneously," Nabba interjected. "Whatever side lived would be severely weakened and if the Werewolves prevailed he'd have a new army to march on England."

"Had this ever been tried before?" Harry asked. "If such a thing were possible, surely others have attempted it?"

Mr Akingbade shook his head. "Once. When Galarys Thorrfinn was taking over the world in the 1300s, a Wizard ally betrayed him and attempted an Imperius. The curse was completely ineffective and the Wizard ripped in half."

The man began to pace along the cliff edge as he continued speaking. "Werewolves are naturally resistant to magic, similar to Giants. For a long time afterwards, people believed the Imperius simply didn't work on them. But Galarys, and I imagine Hirene, are different from their common brethren."

Puzzle pieces fell into place. "The shift?"

A brief nod of acknowledgement. "Purebred, for lack of a better term. Stronger in every way, capable of shifting without the full moon. Likely able to resist spells even more effectively." He shrugged. "Not much is known about them. The theory only came about in the last century when Cryptozoologists began documenting Packs in a less biased light and the two wars since then haven't helped the study."

Desmond spoke up from the side of Fleur, who he'd been having a subdued but comforting conversation with. "The Ward would be particularly strong against Werewolves. It would reduce their natural protections to nothing, leaving them vulnerable to attack since they can't carry their wand during a shift."

Nabba began to cry again and Harry extended a hand out to rest on her shoulder.

Mr Akingbade heaved a sigh before calling for Harry's attention. "The wars here were particularly brutal. Tens of thousands died before Voldemort disappeared the first time. Thousands more the second time."

"So when they saw the Resolution gaining steam," Harry quieted as understanding followed his comment. Abbas would have been a young child during the first war. A soldier for the second. Who all had he lost? Parents? Children?

"Better to get rid of them all." Nabba spoke quietly and her posture was diminutive. "It is a common thought out here because conflict seems inevitable, cyclical."

The Supreme Mugwump sighed. "Harry, there is something else I wanted to speak to you about. I've contacted a photographer to come document the Canavar massacre. I believe you know him. Dennis Creevey?"

Harry nodded mutely. He'd not seen little Dennis since the funeral. The young man had never attended a Memorial or responded to Harry's attempt at correspondence. The only one who claimed to have any contact with him was Luna. Apparently, he'd photographed some animals she'd discovered on a few cryptozoology expeditions. He'd made a name for himself both as a documentarian photographer and an artist. Some of his most famous work had used an old, vintage camera, but no photo produced by that particular camera was ever sold.

"He's a good choice."

Mr Akingbade nodded before looking around the weary group. "We are all tired. Let's reconvene tomorrow, we could all use some rest. Some time."

Fleur made her way over to Harry, wrapping her slender arms around his waist. She mumbled against his chest in a voice too low for him to hear. Clearly, she needed to get away, to find distance between herself and the remains of the village below. He stroked her hair reassuringly and said goodbye to the group before moving to Apparate them both away.

XXXXXXXX

It was hours later before Fleur spoke. They had eaten and readied for bed in silence. The hours had grown long and Harry had assumed they'd fall asleep without a word passing between them.

She had needed space and he'd tried to give it to her.

But eventually, she broke.

"I did this, 'Arry." Fleur clasped her palms together, resting her elbows on the table in front of her. Her back was arched and her head bowed over her hands. She shook. Trembling with tiny, spasming shudders. A strange choking noise hiccupped out of her throat as wracking sobs began to overcome her.

He leaned over, drawing the shaking form of his wife flush to his chest, wrapping his arms protectively around her.

He held her as she cried.

"They would never have finished that ward if I hadn't fixed their perimeter charms, without me all those people-"

"You can't think like that, Fleur."

She continued as though not hearing him. "They'd be alive. I fixed the stability problems, the ward fluctuated out of control anytime it was used, its own magical perimeter being erased by the nullifying effect. I figured out how to charm the wards to be conceptual rather than based on the typical demarcated lines wards use." Her rambling continued wildly, as though she was afraid to stop speaking, afraid of what silence would bring.

He took her firmly by the shoulders and forced her to meet his eyes. "Fleur, stop. Just listen to me."

Her eyes latched onto his, the blue of her irises was wild and pained. "I did this," she repeated.

The statement hung in the air for a moment. The words hanging like a sword over both their heads.

"No," he murmured forcefully. "You are not to blame."

"But-"

"No," he cut her off firmly. "You are no more to blame than… than I am for the war."

She stared at him mutely, her mouth formed words but no sound escaped her lips.

"It's _not_ your fault," he reiterated, clenching her shoulders tight between his fingers. Willing her to understand from his sheer conviction. "I have to believe that and so do you or we're both damned." The words of her father drifted across Harry's mind. "We are not responsible for the actions of monsters."

Her head shook minutely. The strong, proud woman was lost and dazed. An indeterminable amount of time passed as they looked at one another, neither moving nor speaking.

"It is different," came her voice eventually. Fragile still, but alive and whole. "When your actions are the cause. They are words much easier to say than to hear."

"Yes," he agreed, "they are. But it doesn't make them less true."

Fleur looked down for a moment, a faraway expression on her face as she thought. When she spoke, she met his gaze once more. "Does it ever go away?"

He wished he could give her a different answer. One that would be hopeful and easy. A lie.

"No." His eyes drifted down to the floor. The wood turned to ancient grey stones beneath his feet. "It doesn't get better."

With some effort, he lifted his face to meet hers, and the room returned to the present. "But you do." He gave her a small smile that barely lifted the tips of his mouth. "You grow and change. You forgive and put yourself back together again. Some days are easier than others," as he spoke years of memorials flared in his mind, obscuring his sight and stiffening his muscles. "But I'll be here for you. No matter what."

She had always been there for him. Years of being a pillar, holding him up through dark years after the war. When funerals weighed heavily on his shoulders and loss ached like a gaping hole in his chest. Fleur had remained. Like a moon orbiting the planet of his grief, shining soft light onto the cracked, desecrated land below. Her consistent, reassuring presence held a sort of gravity, pulling at the tides of his soul.

'In and out,' she had soothed, rocking him in their home after that first Memorial, teaching him to breathe.

Now it was his turn to be there for her.

He gripped Fleur's delicate wrists in his hands, wondering at their construction. He tugged her around so he could press her back against his chest, wrapping his arms around her middle. His lips traced the sensitive skin of her neck in featherlight brushes.

He took a breath, his chest expanding to press against the curve of her back.

They breathed together. In and out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: Léna is a French name that means "she who allures."
> 
> Obvious real world parallels here. I want to be clear that in no way is my intention to minimize or lampoon any past or current conflict. Stay safe, stay strong.
> 
> Additionally, and on a brighter note, pieces of art depicting Harry and Fleur have been created for this story. Some are by my fellow author and talented friend, DavidTheAthenai. I also have two commissioned pieces of art for Ch. 2 and Ch. 4. Both are absolutely gorgeous and you can see part of one as my profile picture. All the artwork is located in the Harry/Fleur Discord server - Art Gallery. Hope to see you there!


End file.
